


Can I Change Your Mind

by amortentia (jaeger)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And all that jazz, Auror Partners, F/F, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Mutual Pining, ginny/pansy is secondary but still more relevant than romione, it's basically a mission-based fic, they fall in love, they solve crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 57,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaeger/pseuds/amortentia
Summary: Draco wants to be free of his feelings for Harry. Ironically, the only way to do that is to stick with him and keep saving his life until the debt is paid.





	1. Of Wolves and Muggle Towns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Werewolf attacks and a shared room

Draco wasn't one to believe in love.

He knew love existed in its unconditional form, like the one his mother had for him. There was friendship, too, that was also a form of love. He did love Pansy and Blaise, though they annoyed him sometimes. He could admit he also had seen proof of romantic love between a couple that seemed pretty solid. So yeah, he knew it could _exist_.

He just had a hard time to believe that it could happen to _him_ , in the reciprocated way at least. It's not that he thought people couldn't fall for him or find him attractive, either. It had happened more than he cared to admit, during formal occasions or parties with co-workers, when he was forced to dress up and be sociable: someone would inevitably approach him and start flirting. Draco had learnt to tell the signs by now and tried not to lead them on, thus gaining the Romantically Unapproachable Bachelor status, which, although scaring away most of the weakly-interested parties, it made him quite popular among the ones who liked a challenge. To these people he would show no mercy, telling them right on that he wasn't interested, be it man or woman or anyone else.

The truth, though no one knew, was that he already had fallen for someone, so many years ago that he thought he would be over it by now. Yes, of course it was Harry sodding Potter. He still felt a hint of annoyance at his absolutely unreasonable attraction towards that git, but stopped fighting it a long time ago. He had his twenty-seventh birthday this year, which meant he had to live with it for eleven years, having realised this terrible truth in his sixth year.

He still felt sick thinking about that time, when things started spiralling out of control. He was a mess, perfectly aware of his bad choices, and yet his self-destructive attitude pressed him on. Well, that's what he thought at the time, anyway. Too late he realised what the hell was going on in his stupid brain, and by then he couldn't go back anymore. It was a cry for help, really. During fifth year, Potter barely paid him any mind, so he literally had to play cat and mouse with him, joining a patrolling squad for a crazy lady to catch his attention. Even then, alas, he couldn't hold it for more than a few minutes. So, during the summer, he took the chance of his father's failure to offer his services to the Dark Lord himself. He'd never seen his parents as proud as they were that day. If only they'd know the reason why he was doing it... not that he himself knew then. All this elaborate strategic thinking was going on in the back of his head. He just made himself believe that it finally was his time to shine, to leave a mark in history.

He felt smug at the beginning, but that toned down considerably in no time. The task was hard to complete, and a lot was on the line. Yes, Potter glared at him suspiciously every time they were in the same room and even followed him sometimes, but Draco was too scared of the consequences to allow himself to gloat or get distracted. On one hand, he was proud of himself for not getting caught, on the other... well, Potter _was_ brilliant, right? It wasn't all high praise and stories made up by the papers, was it? Then why wasn't he coming to stop Draco? Draco was a hundred percent sure that he would have found a way to ruin the plan and also save his dark soul by the end of the year, possibly.

Apparently, though, he had other things in mind. Draco found out a bit later, being all engrossed in his mission, that Potter and the Weasley girl became a _thing_ . It was disgusting to see it with his own eyes, really. He had never cared much for romantic relationships himself, and was only mildly annoyed by the couples he occasionally glimpsed in the hallways. This one, however... Every time he thought of them together, he felt physically sick. And livid. If he saw them being affectionate during breakfast, it would leave a bad taste in his mouth for the remainder of the day, making it impossible to concentrate on anything, kicking the sodding Cabinet out of frustration. Of course he was mad because Potter was having a good time while he feared for his future, or so he told himself. And cried, there was a lot of crying. He never stooped so low in his life. He fucking _needed_ to be saved. But apparently, the great Harry Potter was too busy snogging his girlfriend and having 'secret' meetings with the headmaster to notice. Or maybe he just didn't care that much, because it was Draco, and he wasn't worth being saved. Potter wasn't even trying, or he would've stopped him a long time ago. Feeling forsaken even by the most disgustingly altruistic person he knew, he pressed on doing what he had to.

What the great Saviour did shortly after was... uncharacteristic, to say the least: he attacked him with a vicious curse that left Draco bleeding on the bathroom floor. He didn't know how to feel about that, still didn’t now as an adult man. It fucking hurt. Physically. And emotionally. It certainly made him _feel_ something, a mixture of rage and wounded pride and rejection and an out-of-place sense of loneliness, and out of spite he actually managed to accomplish his mission. He couldn't complete the other half of his assignment, though Snape fulfilled his Unbreakable Vow and killed Dumbledore in his stance.

After that happened he had to lay low for a while, with time to think properly. It was just before the fall of the Ministry that he _realised_ ; he realised that he had helped a mad tyrant because he felt neglected by his crush. Really? He always fancied himself as a clever person, and yet here he was, regretting everything he had done in the past year, wishing he could go back and just confess, prevent all of this, even at the cost of his pride.

There was nothing he could do now. He kept following orders without using his mind or his heart. Only once he dared to defy the Dark Lord, when he refused to confirm Potter's identity. He didn't look good, but at least he was alive. Draco liked to think that his small, belated good action was somehow relevant in the course of events that led to the Dark Lord's defeat.

Then Potter took his wand. He might as well have killed him there and then. What's a wizard without his wand? Though after all, it's not like he took it to punish him, merely because he needed it. It was mainly because of Draco that everything went to hell, so it was fair that he should indirectly help Potter.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, he was torn between keeping his family safe and a watchful eye on Potter. Turns out he could do both at the same time. Unluckily, his daft friends were way into the whole let's-catch-Potter-and-gain-the-Dark-Lord's-favour and tried to kill him for real. The last thing Draco wanted was for someone in that room to die, even Weasley and Granger, who were surely fundamental in Potter's plans. Then Crabbe went and fucked it up further by conjuring bloody Fiendfyre. Potter finally lived up to his title of Saviour and risked his life to save them. Crabbe didn't make it, but it wasn't anybody's fault but his own. Draco's heart almost leapt out of his chest while he was tightly holding Potter's sides, only partly because of the deadly situation they were in, and as the deadly flames lunged hungrily towards them he thought, _I'm so fucked_.

Honestly, this only added to the boring cliches Draco was guilty of, but the fact that Potter saved him was groundbreaking for Draco, for his feelings. Finally. He finally did it. Had he been waiting seven years for this moment? All his life? He thought he fancied him before, but now, now it most certainly became proper _love_.

How the hell did this happen. Why Draco. Why Potter. All of this was ridiculous. He didn't even _know_ him. Did years of rivalry count as 'knowing each other'? He doubted so.

Draco wished he could say that the trial where, once again, Potter came to his aid, was the last time he saw him. That he moved on and now his life had nothing to do with the Boy who Lived. But. He decided to pick a job that had a lot of relations with the Auror's Department, _specifically_ because of Potter’s position in that office. Yes, he wanted to work as close to him as possible. Not because of his feelings, but because he had a huge debt to pay. Two times Potter saved his life: in the Room of Requirement, and in the trial. Yes, he counted the trial, too, because he was sure he wouldn't have survived Azkaban, even devoid of Dementors. He thought, Aurors often face dangerous situations: he could save Potter’s life a couple times, possibly without being noticed, and he could retire to sulk at the Manor for the rest of his life. That was the plan, but still no luck.

He would've been an Auror himself, but for some years after the war, former Dark Lord's supporters were automatically refused that position. So Draco settled for a consulting job in the Investigation Department, mostly desk work, with occasional field work along Aurors and Hit Wizards. He didn't care that it was boring, nor that he was actually 'doing something good'. All he cared about were those handfuls of missions where he was backing up Potter, half hoping he would end up in a life-or-death situation. Which he did, every time in fact, and every time he came out victorious without any help. Curse sodding Potter and his natural talent against the Dark Arts.

In these few occasions, they didn't exchange more than a few necessary words, strictly about the job. Also, Potter didn't trust Draco to have his back, which was perfectly reasonable but still hurt. Draco would never admit it, but his eyes were drawn to the successful young wizard more often than not, and not one time he caught those green eyes looking back. Tightening his jaw, he tried to remember that this was not about winning Potter over and making him fall in love. His feelings didn't matter. He was certain that the reason why he was never able to get over his crush was because he was never apart from him for more than a few weeks at a time: the sooner he would pay his debt and leave the sodding job, the sooner he could be free of this hell made of aching chests and nervous sweats.

Then the promotion came. Potter became Head of Auror's Department, which meant he could choose who to consult, and not-so-surprisingly, it was never Draco. This was bad for the plan. But he didn't have much time to worry, because in two months' time Draco helped to catch the last Death Eater, who was hiding in Ukraine, and was offered a promotion himself. This was a delicate situation because, if he accepted, it would mean Potter _had_ to see him in meetings, but he wouldn't be a consultant working in the field as much as an administrative figure. In the end he refused, not knowing exactly what it was going to happen, and was rewarded beautifully: everyone in the office now respected him, especially the Head of the Department who was grateful he didn't take his place.This meant that whenever a request for a consultant was sent in by the Auror's Department, Draco was the first to be offered the job.

He never thought committing himself to work would bring him these pleasant results, nor this burning flame of pride in his chest, which he hadn't felt in a long time now. Up until now, he was just... there, doing the bare minimum not to get fired. Maybe he wouldn't leave the place after he was done with Potter. _If_ he ever would be done with Potter, he redacted, reminding himself the score was still two to zero for Potter.

 

 

“Come in.”

Draco stepped into Strudwick's office, and sat on the wooden chair in front of the desk when the man gestured to it. He seemed pleased to see him. Surely, he was glad Draco was sitting on that uncomfortable chair and not on his velvet-clad seat.

“We have a request from the Auror's Department-”

“I'll take it.”

Strudwick flashed him a patient smile.

“I wasn't done, Draco. We also have one from the Hit Wizards. The Aurors are looking for a rogue werewolf, it's been running wild in Dunbar for a couple of full moons now. The Hit Wizards are after the Leicester murderer, which I'm sure you read about in the papers lately. The choice is between ungrateful hours to catch a wild dog or fame and glory for catching a serial killer.”

Draco politely let him finish (final chuckle included), waited a couple of seconds to feign indecision, then said:

“I'll go with the werewolf.”

Strudwick bit his lip.

“Draco, Draco. I know you wanted to be an Auror, but this is leading you to wrong choices. That ship has sailed, my boy. I let you choose your assignments so that you can forge your career, not sink it. A rogue werewolf... yes, it killed a couple of muggles and it's been terrorising a town for some time. I'm pretty sure it will turn out to be an unknowing housewife who has no idea what's been happening to her. A serial killer, however... they have been looking for him for weeks, and yet he managed to kill five witches and wizards, and a young squib! If you help them catch him, you will not get a miserable column on the Prophet, you will be on the first page with a couple of the most respected Hit Wizards!”

Draco could see that the man cared about his success. Whether it was because he wanted to keep him away from his armchair, or because he actually wanted to help him, he couldn't say for sure. But he had a point. This job had just started feeling rewarding, and a rogue werewolf felt like a step back from the streak of thieves and international smugglers he had going on. On the other hand, a serial killer was _definitely_ a step forward. Also, the Head of Aurors' couldn't be following such an insignificant case, so he would just be wasting his time.

"I don't know why Harry Potter is so determined about chasing this werewolf... I mean, I'm not saying Muggle lives are not important”, he laughed nervously, “but he really should let the Werewolf Capture Unit deal with this. Right now they've got their hands full with a lycanthropy propagation up in Manchester. As soon as they're done, I'm sure they will put their minds and hearts into it. Ah Potter... an excellent wizard, a brilliant Auror... he should be supporting the Hit Wizards with the Leicester murderer, not running around Muggle towns.”

Oh. So Potter himself was the one on the case. Well, he had no choice now. He rose from the hard chair.

“Mind if I consider this for a bit?”

He had to at least pretend he cared more about his career than a secret life debt with his former rival.

“Of course, but no later than two PM. Serial killers know no rest, except for when they're dead.”

Strudwick winked knowingly at him, certain that his wisdom was helping to shape a great Investigative Wizard.

 

 

He met Potter at his office, three o'clock sharp, to discuss the case.

The place was a mess, unsurprisingly: papers scattered all over the desk, some on the floor even; memos flying everywhere, owl feathers, empty flasks, confiscated wands waiting to be put away; quills, ink bottles, and so, _so_ many mugs on every horizontal surface; and to top it all off, a vaguely unpleasant smell in the room. Draco automatically waved his wand towards the window, opening it. Immediately, the cold October wind knocked a few papers off the desk, and Potter, after taking some time to find his own wand and closing the window, reserved him an annoyed glare. Draco unapologetically raised an eyebrow at him, though his insides were twisting and twirling. It had been some time since he last saw him, and no matter how tired or worried, he always managed to metaphorically punch Draco’s guts with a simple stare.

“We don't need a skilled Investigator such as yourself, Malfoy. This is a minor case.”

Behind the obvious mockery, there was a hint of something in his tone that Draco couldn't quite pin down.

"And yet here I am, humbling you with my presence. You better not waste my talent... or my time," he added, nodding towards the paperwork Potter was trying to put in order. He couldn't get his attention even when they were supposed to be working together.

 _This is not about winning him over_ , he reminded himself.

Potter rubbed his eyes behind the glasses' lenses.

“All right... For the past two full moons, there have been werewolves attacks in the Muggle town of Dunbar. Two men and a woman were killed, two of which died instantly, the other one passed away in a hospital an hour after the attack. After the first deaths, members of the MLE Patrol were sent over from Edinburgh, but they came back empty-handed, swearing there was not a single witch or wizard in the town, and therefore there could not be a werewolf either.”

“Why not?”

If Potter thought it was a stupid question, he did not give it away.

“Muggles don't know how to deal with werewolf injuries, so they don't get a chance to get infected, they just... die. Anyway, as soon as the other killings took place, they sent in a request to us -to the Werewolf Capture Unit, precisely- and washed their hands of the whole thing.”

Draco expected a bit more of information on how the case landed on the Aurors' Head desk, but by the way Potter was going back to leaf through the paperwork, he thought that was it.

“All right. When are we leaving?” he asked impatiently.

“Hm?”

“The Auror on the case and I. When will we be leaving. You know, to Dunbar?” he added, not sure if Potter's mind was fully present.

“The Auror... Oh. That would be me. I'd say... as soon as I'm done with these?”

Draco lifted an eyebrow.

“It'll be tonight or tomorrow at the latest, I will let you know. Tell Strudwick I gave you the rest of the day off.”

Draco nodded, though Potter wasn't looking, and left the office, narrowly avoiding a memo in the eye. There were still four days to the next full moon. What were they supposed to do there so early?

 

 

After supper, Draco was in his room, perched on a stack of books like 'The Art of Investigation: How to Track Lurking Criminals of Average Dangerousness', and 'Records of the Most Bizarre Localisation Methods Used Before the Tracking Spell Was Discovered'. He was intensely focused on a page of 'Investigating Non-Ordinary Wizards and Semi-Sentient Creatures', when he caught a glimpse of a foreign source of light in the corner of his eye. There was a huge deer made of light staring at him from across the room. Draco almost fell from his chair when the damn thing opened his mouth and spoke with Potter's voice.

“Sorry, I couldn't finish after all... See you in my office tomorrow at one o'clock”

The deer stood silent for a while, watching him, and Draco wondered if there was something wrong with the spell, then it spoke again.

“Don't pack too many clothes, we'll be dressing as Muggles most of the time.”

Draco groaned and rubbed his face, while the Patronus hopped through the closed window.

Not that he hated Muggle clothes, he actually liked to wear them underneath his cloak for the most informal parties (his style was very much fashionable, as flirting co-workers and acquaintances kept saying); it was wearing them to blend in that bothered him, since he couldn't wear pointy hats nor long, warm capes. He always felt underdressed.

He knew the Department was going to provide the clothes, but he packed a few of his own anyway, not trusting a random wizard who knew nothing of his measurements or style to choose them for him.

 

 

The following morning he kissed his mother goodbye and Flooed to the Ministry in his working hours, though he didn't have to. There was nothing to do there, except reading some more. When he approached Potter's office, ten minutes to one, the secretary outside looked at him with an apologetic smile and said, “I think he might be dead.”

Draco blinked a few times.

“...excuse me?”

"Mr Potter. He stayed overnight to finish the paperwork, and now I think he's dead. Can you check on him for me, please? I'm too afraid to do it myself.”

Draco kept his expression neutral, not sure if she was joking, and pushed the heavy mahogany door.

Well, he _did_ look dead. The office was exactly like the day before, except Potter was now sleeping soundly on his desk. A thin thread of drool from his mouth had smudged the ink of the paper under his face, and a memo was desperately trying to free itself from the tangle of his hair. Draco allowed himself to smile, partly amused, partly softened.

He cleared his throat loudly. Potter groaned in his sleep.

“Potter!”

Potter's head instantly shot up, glasses askew, paper glued to his face, eyes terribly unfocused, and it was all Draco could do not to laugh in his face. Instead, he tapped his finger on the desk.

“I'm awake, I'm awake...” Potter said, peeling the piece of parchment from his cheek. He slowly picked up a nearby mug, examined its contents, shrugged and chugged it down.

“Glad to see professionalism is not dead.”

“Just a couple of minutes, _I promise_ ," he said, and disappeared behind a door which, Draco imagined, let into a private toilet, so he decided to wait outside.

“So, should I clear my desk?” the secretary asked him.

"His day has not come yet, I reckon," he answered, picking up on the mock concern.

Potter came back in what Draco counted to be five minutes, and asked the secretary if his baggage had arrived. She nodded and extended him a leather messenger bag.

“Please Letty, thank Hermione for me, she saved my life... Tell her I will buy her dinner when I come back”

Draco glanced at the bag and thought Potter had a weird concept of life-saving. Though, if that was the case, it could only help his chances of getting out of his life debt sooner.

Potter gave some more instructions to his secretary, then they took the lift to go to the Atrium. Draco automatically motioned towards the fireplaces, but Potter went straight to the reception and asked for a Portkey.

“Potter?”

“Hm?”

“Why aren't we Flooing?”

“I thought it would be more convenient this way. Also, I hate Flooing.”

“Oh.”

The receptionist came back Levitating a pair of rusty scissors.

"Whenever you're ready," he said.

 

 

“Ouch, Potter, that's my foot!”

“Shhh! Sorry but it's kind of narrow here...”

'Narrow' was the word, all right. They were transported to what looked like an out-of-order bathroom stall, which was clearly designed for one occupant at a time. They got out of it with some difficulties, and they both ignored the surprised look that the man washing his hands gave them through the mirror. They were inside a Muggle fast-food, no doubt about it, and thank Merlin for that, because it was lunch rush and nobody would notice two whole grown men coming out of a toilet they didn't get into.

It _was_ lunchtime, wasn't it? Though Draco was usually very careful with his eating habits, he felt his mouth watering at the smells. He could really go for that big, three-layered hamburger right now. He dared a glance to Potter and saw his desires mirrored in his expression.

"We could eat. The train leaves in forty minutes, we have time," he said as if he felt hunger radiating from the body beside him.

Draco temporarily forgot about his junk food cravings.

“Train?!”

“Yes. We're in Edinburgh right now” Potter explained apologetically. “Dunbar is a Muggle town. No Floo Network, no permission to Apparate or use Portkeys”

Draco made a show of rolling his eyes. He was going to do his bloody job, but no way he wasn't going to complain about every little inconvenience. He would never do this in front of anyone else of course, it would be very unprofessional; however, with Potter, it would feel weird not to because he would know that he was annoyed even if Draco didn't show it.

What he didn't expect was that smirk he barely glimpsed as Potter turned to consider the menu choices pictured above their heads. Draco nervously swallowed as he did the same.

They took the CrossCountry train at one forty-four, and by two o'clock Potter had resumed his nap, sprawling across two seats. Draco sat in the row directly ahead, and his snoring pleasantly distracted him whilst he skimmed through 'Inside the Mind of Werewolves: People with Beastly Instincts or Animals with Human Intelligence?'. Not thirty minutes into the journey, it started raining. Draco observed the droplets hitting the glass, casually remembering the train ride to his third year at Hogwarts. He still thought that Potter fainting because of Dementors was pretty funny; not the he-had-so-many-awful-memories-his-body-couldn't-handle-it part, but the he-fell-on-the-floor-unconscious-and-he-had-to-eat-chocolate-to-recover part. Then he remembered the Quidditch match that same year, and his own heart dropping to his stomach when he feared Potter was going to die from the fall. He swallowed. This was the reason why it had been so fucking hard understanding his feelings for Potter. He worried about him all the time but also loved making fun of him in a very mean way. He was so hurt at the beginning of the first year when his friendship offer was refused that his general mindset was a mixture of 'if I can't have him, no one can' and 'he hurt me so he deserves to be hurt'. For years he tried to make him feel miserable and ridicule him so that he would find himself alone, maybe then he would _understand_. But Draco was always on the losing side when it came to Potter.

The incorporeal female voice announced their arrival to Dunbar, and thankfully Draco didn't have to wake his colleague up this time, though he did have to remind him to take his messenger bag with him.

“We might as well check in into the B&B right away," Potter said absently, ruffling his hair further.

Draco answered with a non-committal hum, forcibly tearing his eyes from that mess of a hairstyle that he definitely found unattractive. Luckily, the place was not far, but there was a lot of wind to add to the rain, so they were both soaked to the bone when they stepped into the warm atrium (they couldn't use magic for 'trivial matters' such as preventing deadly pneumonia, apparently). He let Potter talk with the man at the reception and immediately noticed he held only one key in his hand when he came back. He said nothing, hoping the colour in his cheek would be blamed on the temperature leap.

Something must have shown on his face, however, because Potter reassured him they would not be using the room a lot.

 

 

They put the bags down and then they were out again, headed to the police station. There they consulted briefly with the Muggle Chief, who was under the impression they were from the London Wildlife Control Unit, and assured his department's full support. They already double checked that no one in the town was keeping a dangerous pet, and though they found an illegal cheetah, they swore there was nothing that could have inflicted that kind of wounds.

After the useless meeting, Draco and Potter stood for a few minutes outside of the station, sheltered from the rain, as if it could turn into drizzle if they wished it hard enough.

“Why are we here?” Draco asked.

“We had to let the Muggle authorities know-”

“I know that. I mean, why are we in Dunbar so early. It's still three days till the full moon.”

“We're here to _prevent_ further attacks, not to investigate them after they happen.”

“How the hell are we supposed to do that? How can I trace someone that I know nothing about? If they are in the animal form...” Draco trailed off.

"It's the perfect chance to show off your amazing talent, then.”

Draco ignored the smirk and the mockery, tucking hands underneath his armpits.

"I want to help them," said Potter unprompted, looking straight ahead.

“Yes, I do too, but this...”

“I mean the werewolf. I want to help them. They most likely don't know how to stop.”

Draco observed his earnest profile, all made of soft curves.

“I forgot you had a... _thing_ for werewolves.” he teased, trying to lighten up the mood.

“A thing?” Potter suddenly turned to him, and he didn't look amused. “A thing?! They are people! They don't know what they're doing while they're in that form! They can't stop! And the morning after they remember _everything_! How do you think they feel? Not all of them are like Greyback, you know!”

Draco was taken aback by the sudden outburst and was probably gawping at him.

“Potter...”

“If you knew you weren't going to take this seriously, you shouldn't have come at all!”

“Potter, the Statute of Secrecy!” Draco admonished.

Potter averted his eyes, obviously embarrassed about the outburst but still pissed off, and walked ahead without another word. Shaking himself, Draco followed.

 

 

Although Potter had said they wouldn't stay much in the B&B room, they spent the rest of the day listening to recordings of interviews the police had conducted with a few eyewitnesses. Most of them said that despite the streets were illuminated both by the full moon and the street lights, they couldn't see much, except for the blurred, huge mass of the creature. Some witnesses had been miles away, or inside their house, so their deposition was very vague.

Only one of them was helpful.

_It was a little after twelve. We were walking home together from a friend's house. Just... chatting, talking about the evening... we hear a low growl, and stop to understand where it comes from... next thing I know, I'm on the asphalt, and my sister is screaming, struggling with this enormous thing that is trying to rip her arm off, and blood is spraying everywhere, and the beast is using its claws to...claw... at her face... and well, I tried to... help her, but that bloody thing was impossible to move, I didn’t have any weapon with me... so I called you, but by the time you came..._

_The beast just left?_

_Yes, just before she... passed. Like... it didn't care for her, didn't even to try to eat her._

_Ma'am, you referred to the creature as a beast now, but when you called earlier you said it was a giant wolf._

_Ah, yes... well, it looked like a wolf, but something was off. It had some kind of... intelligent sparkle in its black eyes. That, and... wolves are extinct here, right? It might have been a vicious dog or something. I'm sorry, I don't know anymore..._

_One more question ma'am. You were hurt that night. Was it the creature?_

_No, actually. While I was trying to help my sister, she accidentally scratched me._

_Thank you for your time. Please, if anything new comes to mind..._

“Sure sounds like a werewolf...” Draco said, if only to break the awkward silence. “Hunting alone, leaving the victim there... it certainly didn't kill to feed. Plus, as the lady said, no wild wolves in Britain, so.”

Potter was staring thoughtfully at the thing that played the recordings —the leap-top or something.

“I'm not sure.”

Draco gawped at him.

“You're not serious, are you? It attacked twice, both times during the full moon. You think it's a coincidence?”

“No. But it doesn't mean it's a werewolf.”

How could he be raising these objections? Was he just trying to irritate him? Draco gathered all his patience with a deep breath.

“You're not making any sense. Have you ever read 'Howling at the Moon'? It's written by a man affected by lycanthropy, so it's pretty accurate. He says that sometimes he would attack Muggles, knowing that they wouldn't survive, and leave them to be found. And it's not weird that the sister was not attacked, because its mouth was still full of blood, and it probably didn't care for more as of that moment.”

Potter patiently waited for him to finish.

“Have you ever seen a werewolf with your own eyes, Malfoy? Up close, I mean.”

He met his gaze for the first time after the outburst at the police station.

Draco didn't answer.

“I have. And let me tell you, its eyes are not intelligent. They're completely mad, and hungry. They don't recognise people, all they see is prey. If the creature had really been a werewolf, she'd be dead. Also, that night it only attacked one person. It was just after twelve. What did it do the rest of the night? Where did it _go_?”

“Maybe... there was no one else out?” Draco said tentatively.

“No one else saw it. There were at least six police officers, four paramedics and a bunch of curious neighbours in that area only. You know it would have come back, smelling all those people.”

“So what are you trying to say? That it was... an actual wolf? Or a crazy dog?”

“I don't know... I don't know” Potter replied, tiredly rubbing his face.

Silence fell again between them, this time a contemplative one. Was this case even related to anything magical?

“I'm sorry about earlier.”

Draco's head turned so fast towards Potter that he heard a snap.

“I shouldn't have mentioned him, I know you didn't like him. Greyback.”

“How do you know?” Draco asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh. Er... well...” Potter seemed at a loss for words. “I... you didn't look happy when he appeared at the Astronomy tower.”

Draco almost fell to the floor trying to sit down on his bed.

“How do you know?” he repeated on the defensive.

“I was there. Kind of.”

No. Not this too. He saw him crying in the bathroom, and he saw him fail when he couldn't kill Dumbledore, too? That... might have been a good thing, actually. Maybe that was why he chose to vouch for him at his trial. But still, he saw him in another one of his darkest moments, and Draco wasn't even aware until now.

Draco almost asked, _why didn't you stop me then?_ , but he held on tight on that last remnant of pride.

“You couldn't have been. There was just me and him, and then the Death Eaters came...”

“I was immobilised under my invisibility cloak” Potter shrugged, clearly not thrilled to talk about the subject either.

Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. After a few seconds, he couldn't bear it anymore and excused himself, mumbling he needed fresh air. He felt Potter's eyes on him, and for once he wished he wouldn't look at him.

He came back after taking a walk around the neighbourhood protected by a full-body Impervious Charm (he was too upset to get drenched again, damn the Statute of Secrecy); Potter was sitting at the small table, his back to him, so caught up in his writing he didn't even notice him.

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Draco dreamt of the Astronomy tower that night.

Everything was exactly as it happened, except this time, Draco knew Potter was there.

“Please, help me... You're the Saviour, you're supposed to help me...” he kept pleading to the empty room. Dumbledore looked at him with watery eyes full of compassion. He hated that.

Suddenly Greyback came into the room, alone this time, and started sniffing at the air.

“I smell Potty!” he said, salivating. “Where are you, Potty Potty Potty...”

 

 

He was suddenly woken up by the bathroom door closing. The clock on the nightstand between the beds informed him it was seven thirty. Rubbing his eyes, he saw that outside was still dark, but at least it wasn't raining anymore. Or rather, it wasn't raining _yet_.

Potter came out of the bathroom fully dressed, stared at him for a few embarrassing seconds, then nodded awkwardly by way of good morning, and Draco did the same as he went into the toilet. He did his best to prepare mentally for the day ahead.

By eight twenty they were coming out of the Police station, where they asked for permission to see where the last attack took place and get directions. Draco suggested they borrow some police tape, but according to Potter, it did absolutely nothing if civilians tried to cross it. It wasn't even made of sturdy stuff, it ripped quite easily.

“It doesn't make any sense. Might as well put on signs that say 'please step all over the place', or let them help with the investigation.” Draco drawled, still half asleep.

"Muggles rely on the people's respect for the law enforcement more than we do.”

Draco shrugged. He would never understand Muggles. Potter did. Potter was a child of both worlds, he hadn't chosen one over the other. He didn't _have to_ deal with Muggles, but he still did, and he was good at that. Draco was certain that if this case had been given to another Pureblood, let's say, for example, Weasley, they would have blown the Statute of Secrecy ten minutes after setting foot into the town.

They reached the scene of the last murder. Although it had been almost a month since it happened, they could still check for lingering traces of magic in the air; this procedure would have been impossible if it hadn't been a Muggles-only town.

Potter cast a Muggle-repelling charm that followed them as they moved, and they started to look for any kind of magic trail. Right where the murder happened, Draco found a faded remnant of something that definitely was not a spell, and was instead similar to the kind of trace some magical creatures left behind. It was so faint that nothing more could be gathered from it.

“Maybe we could have found something by examining the body... or its blood...” Potter mumbled to himself.

Draco was glad the body was already six feet under and no samples had been kept, since the case had been archived as a simple animal attack. Only a couple of times he had been asked to find dead bodies, and it hadn't been a pleasurable experience. His work was with the living, and he was thankful for that.

As they walked around the area once more, to be sure nothing was left overlooked, Draco suddenly jumped and let out a surprised yell when he saw something move at the edge of the street. It was a bloody snake. Potter laughed softly, and Draco hated him.

Potter stopped and crouched next to it, starting to chit-chat with the creature. It was fascinating, if only a bit ridiculous. The creature must have been three feet long, with a dark coloured body and a yellow collar.

Potter's expression turned very serious very suddenly, and his tone suggested urgency, while the snake answered just inches from his face. The whole exchange took four minutes at most.

“Malfoy, come here... come on, it's just a grass snake, it's not dangerous! She said she was in the area when the murder took place, and she is perfectly willing to help... if we feed her something good.”

Draco lifted his eyebrow at the snake, who was disconcertingly staring at him and flicking its tongue.

“Er... something in particular?”

“It must be small enough to fit in her mouth. 'Anything but toads', she said”

Draco sighed. Was he to be a snake's errand boy now?

“How about a mouse? A rat?” Draco suggests “Is there a, er, Muggle menagerie in this town?”

Potter crossed his arms.

“I'm not _buying_ her a hamster to eat, Malfoy”

“Then _what_?”

 

 

Half an hour later, the snake was happily gobbling down half a dozen eggs from the store, not minding the fact that they weren't alive. Its body looked very weird after the meal.

Potter patiently waited, then started asking questions, nodding gravely while he listened.

“Come on,” he said, getting up from where he was crouching “she wants to show us something.”

As they walked to the mysterious location, Potter brought him up to speed with the interrogation.

"She said it was a weird creature, never seen before, and its smell... was that of a predator, but also had 'undertones of human' -her words-, but the vibrations she felt from its movements were very much animal-like. So I don't know, I think we're circling back to the werewolf theory here... Oh, she also said the leather of your shoes smell weird.”

Turns out the snake was taking them to her favourite pond, where she was happily swimming around when she felt the beast running in the vicinity. They checked for clues, but after all the time that passed (and the rain), there was nothing except for the faint trace of magic they found at the scene of the murder.

 

 

“I'm still not convinced," said Potter for the sixth time as they were looking for a place to eat lunch.

“I've been thinking...” Draco began, immediately catching Potter's attention. Well, that was a first. He continued, "What about the Imperius curse? Wait, let me explain. Let's suppose werewolves are not sentient during a full moon, therefore not cursable in that state. What if they were cursed while in human form, would the spell still be active when they transformed?”

“Hm. I honestly don't know.”

They had some troubles choosing between an Italian restaurant and a fish and chips in High street but in the end, they chose the one Potter wanted, because he was the Head of Auror's Department and because he had Draco wrapped around his finger.

“Wait a minute,” Potter said suddenly, a forkful of pasta alla bolognese two inches from his mouth, “We were having troubles finding a single wizard in a Muggle town; now you say we're looking for two? Is it possible that they live here but don't practice any magic at all?”

“Forget about it. It was a stupid idea. I don't know what to look for any more”

“I don't think it's stupid. Let's keep it in mind.”

Draco didn't know what surprised him more, the validation of his theory or the earnest tone he used.

“All right then... Should we start looking in the neighbouring area?”

Potter sighed.

“I think so. But first I want to take a look at the other two crime scenes.”

Predictably, they didn't find anything new, and then it started to rain again, so they had to take shelter under porches while Draco discreetly tried to track magic sources in various parts of the small town.

“Nothing," he said for the hundredth time, shaking his head. So the werewolf wasn't there. They probably lived outside town, maybe in a neighbouring community, maybe alone in a country cottage or something. The day was nearly over and they made little to no progress. Just one more day to go, and then the full moon would be upon them.

 

 

“So what are we going to do tomorrow?”, Draco asked while hanging up his soaking wet coat.

All he heard was a discouraged sigh from behind, and as he turned to the room he barely contained a choked sound from escaping his lips.

Potter had removed his own coat before him, and his jacket too, so that he was now only wearing his white shirt, which was damp and sticking to Potter's skin, leaving very little to the imagination. For a handful of seconds, Draco was unable to move or say anything.

Luckily, Potter was engrossed in checking some new letters that landed on the desk while they were gone, and didn't notice anything. When he (seemingly absent-mindedly) raised his fingers to undo the shirt buttons, Draco hurriedly said he was going to take a shower first, and went into the bathroom without waiting for Potter's reply.

He came out of it refreshed in spirit and physically warm, and all he would have wanted was a good meal and a night of good sleep, but he knew that was wishful thinking. They went over the case once again while eating a mediocre take-out dinner in their room, trying to see something new, thinking about new questions to ask the snake, scrambling their brains for knowledge they might have overlooked. After a couple of fruitless hours of conversation, they resolved to study each other's notes in the hope that a different wording of the same thoughts would bring something new to the table.

“Dammit!”

Draco was so surprised by the unexpected cry that the notes slipped from his fingers, ending up at his feet.

“What?” he asked, rubbing an eye with a hand and picking the notes with the other.

“Just.. fuck! We can't predict where it will hit! Catching them while in their human form was the only way to ensure no one got hurt! How am I supposed to...”

Draco looked at how worried Potter's expression was, how his hands did these big, useless gestures, how he kept bobbing his knee and biting his lower lip... Potter was _very_ anxious.

During their previous partnerships, he always seemed to know what to do, but now he looked like a scared Auror trainee on his first mission. Draco's first instinct was to pat his shoulder and tell him that they were going to catch the bloody werewolf because they were the best the Ministry had to offer; he mentally slapped himself for even having that thought.

“No one will get hurt,” he said instead. "The police has already issued a curfew so that we will be the only ones outside at night. Besides, we'll be dressed like Muggles. We just need to keep our wands out of sight and the beast will come to us on its own.”

And just as he said it, he knew it was true. It was so simple. Yes, it would have been ideal to find the person _before_ the full moon came; but even in the worst case scenario, they could catch it and no one but them would be in danger.

Potter's nervous ticks stopped all at once as he considered the plan; Draco just wished he wouldn't stare at him so intently as he did so.

“Wow, Malfoy. You're right, it _is_ that simple. Now you're just making me look bad” Potter said finally, apparently approving of his plan.

Draco had to look away in embarrassment, pretending to be very interested in Potter's barely legible handwriting.

 

 

The first thing to do the next morning was visiting the police station. Once again, Potter did all the talking, and he was very vague about the details, asking that the curfew be extended “Until we catch our killer”, as if that night wasn't their only chance.

“Well, let's hope he doesn't hit tonight, or people will really start thinking it's a werewolf!” the chief of police said, laughing nervously.

“Muggles know about werewolves?” Draco whispered as they left the station's outer gate behind them.

“Yes, but they don't _believe_ in them. They think of them as mythical creatures, like... like chimaeras and phoenixes” Potter gestured vaguely.

Draco nodded, pretending to have known that Muggles didn't believe in the existence of chimaeras and phoenixes.

Before going to lunch, they visited once again the last murder scene, then walked to the snake's pond. She was happily (or so Draco assumed) swallowing a toad, and she seemed glad to see them (again, from a non-Parseltongue speaker point of view). Potter chatted a bit with her, while Draco pretended not to sneak looks in their directions to understand whether they were talking about his clothes behind his back.

“Alright, let's have lunch," Potter said, walking in his direction. “I'm starving.”

 

 

“You know what? I could really go for a walk right now.”

Draco shrugged in response. It wasn't as if they could do much more in those few hours before dark.

The seaside was grey and deserted and sad, but Draco liked it. He liked all things sad. Potter mumbled to himself beside him, and he felt a weird sense of peace in his chest, as if they were two friends walking together in comfortable silence and were not going to risk their lives that night.

“What the _hell_ is that?”

Draco stopped in his tracks, and Potter did the same, searching for the source of Draco's confusion. There was a bridge in the water. Like, in the middle of it. It wasn't linking two earth lids. It was literally useless.

Potter started laughing, almost hysterically, and if Draco hadn't felt like he was laughing at him, he would have joined him. Maybe it was a Muggle thing that he couldn't comprehend.

“I don't know!” Potter said, catching his breath. “It must be... some kind... of art installation or something... Oh fuck, your _face_!”

Though Draco felt mildly insulted, he hated it much more when the sound of laughter died down, and the stern expression came back on Potter's face.

He turned to watch the bridge again, trying to imagine what it would be like to be there for a vacation instead of work, as a couple instead of two people with a purely professional relationship.

“Let's go back to the B&B. We have a long night ahead of us.”

 

 

They decided which route each of them had to take on a town map replica they bought in a small souvenir shop. Splitting gave them more chances to find -or rather, be found by- the werewolf: whoever saw it first would shoot red sparks overhead immediately, so that the other one could Apparate to that location. After Draco explained his plan, Potter apparently spent most of the previous night writing to the Ministry to ask permission to use magic in the town, which he was easily granted: a squad of Obliviators would arrive the following morning to wipe the memories of potential Muggle witnesses.

Though Draco managed to hide his anxiety in front of Potter, once he found himself walking alone on the wet pavement, he kept looking up at the sky, frantically searching for red sparks. If Potter died on his watch... of course on one hand Draco would be finally free, in so _many_ ways, but on the other, he would also lose the chance at his only goal in life. While he thought about this, he deliberately overlooked how he would feel for the loss of the only person he ever had any romantic interest for. There was no point in considering that, because Draco would have died before something like that ever happened.

 

 

The evening seemed to proceed very slowly. At ten he met Potter for a check in; then they went back each to his own route. At about eleven thirty the sky started to get cloudy, and by the time they met again at midnight, it was raining heavily. According to Potter, a werewolf wouldn't transform into their wolf form if the moon was not visible; he wasn't sure what would happen if they were already transformed and the moon was temporarily hidden.

“What if there is no attack tonight?” Draco asked. “Will we come back the next full moon?”

Potter failed to hide an amused smile that, surprisingly, Draco didn't find annoying at all. "Oh no, I don't think I can take another day of vacation this year. I'm surprised I still haven't received a Howler from Letty telling me the office is flooded with paperwork.”

His tone was light, but it was clear he was dreading the moment he would return to the Ministry.

“Why did you even accept the promotion if you like field work best?” Draco asked before he could stop himself.

Potter considered him for long seconds before waving the question aside with his hand.

“As much as I'd love to talk about my life decisions with you, Malfoy, this werewolf isn't going to catch itself. Chop-chop!”

 

 

It finally happened, at two forty in the morning. The rain was now barely a drizzle and visibility was rather good under street lamps and in their general vicinity. Before he saw it though, he heard it. A growl so low Draco had the impression he felt it vibrate in his bones- he barely had the time to send red sparks through the air and the beast was upon him.

As he rolled away from its trajectory, he heard Potter perform a binding curse on the creature (no doubt his Auror experience trained his reflexes better that Draco's desk job) but the wolf tore its ropes like cobwebs and charged for a new attack, directed at Potter this time.

Draco acted before he had time to think about it: his feet stumbled on the wet cobblestones, his hands trying to grasp at the air, hoping that it would help him go faster, or at least fast enough- _fuck, please, let me do this right_

-and sure enough, Draco felt a sharp, burning pain in his forearm as the beast's jaws closed around it and tried to rip it off.

Struggling to stay focused, he flicked his wand to whatever body part of the creature was the closest, but nothing happened. He was barely aware of Potter screaming spells from behind him (all of which bounced off from the target), holding his shoulder, trying to get the werewolf to release Draco's arm without tearing it away. After what seemed like an hour, a Stunner accidentally hit the nose of the wolf, who had to release Draco's arm to sneeze. Potter violently pulled him back, making him fall on his bottom: only then Draco realized he had been screaming non-stop since he had been bitten.

Between the sharp pain, his own bellowing, Potter's spells flying through the air one after the other and the beast's growling, he couldn't really tell what the hell was going on. The least he could do was shooting some curses, so he went for his wand, and that's when he noticed it was missing. Fuck. Not again.

Draco's vision started to blur more and more as he blindly felt the asphalt around him searching for his wand. He wasn't sure if the sudden absence of battle noises was because his senses were dimming or because something terrible happened, so he called for Potter.

In a second he was beside him, gently taking Draco's injured arm to check the wound.

“Malfoy... you need some silver and dittany as soon as possible”

“What about... the wolf?”

“It doesn't matter-”

“What... about it?”

"It ran away," Potter said with a hint of bitterness.

Of course it was Draco's fault. Luckily, he had a trick up his sleeve. He grabbed a handful of Potter's collar with his good arm and brought his face way closer than he intended.

“Promise me you won't go running after it.”

“How am I supposed to...?”

“Promise,” he hissed, trying not to groan in pain.

“All right. I promise,” Potter said. He couldn't see his face but he clearly heard the eye-roll in his tone.

“Brilliant. Well, I might have put a Tracker spell on it. It's going to last twelve hours, enough time for you to contact the Werewolf Capture Unit... Now bring me to a fucking Healer, I think I'm going to pass out.”

As soon as he said that, he lost consciousness.

 

 

Unsurprisingly, he woke up in a hospital bed. He sure hoped it wasn't a Muggle hospital.

Surprisingly, though, after gaining control of his senses, he noticed Potter's figure sitting on a chair to his right, reading the Prophet.

“Potter?” he inquired, his voice drowsy and more drawled than ever.

Potter immediately put down the paper and inspected him closely. Draco barely had the time to feel embarrassed that Potter flicked a finger at his nose, drawing a surprised noise from him.

“Are you mental, Malfoy? What the fuck were you thinking, uh? You have a death wish or something?”

“You could just say, thank you for saving my life Malfoy, I wouldn't be here without you!”

“No, I won't, because I'm pretty sure that wasn't some heroic act! You _must_ want something in return... So, what is it? A special interview where I admit the town is safe only thanks to you? A public handshake in front of the whole wizard community?”

Draco felt hurt and insulted at the same time. He was going to say something bitter to make Potter feel bad, but whatever potion had been given to him to ease the pain decided to do the talking for him.

“I don't want _anything_ from you, Potter. I wish I never had to see you again after the trials but I did have one -or rather two- huge debts to repay, didn't I? So yes, it wasn't a 'heroic act' and I don't want you to think it was. Just... accept it and shut up, alright? One more stupid stunt like this and I will be out of your life forever.”

Potter's expression went through a range of emotions during this small monologue.

“What the fuck, Malfoy. I don't want you to repay me for the times I saved your life -which, by the way, are definitely more than two. I do things because I think they're right. I never wanted to be paid back.”

“That's your whole thing, isn't it?”

“Yes. And anyway, paying this huge debt to me is so important that you'd rather become a werewolf in my place than let me get hurt? Because, you should know, I definitely wasn't going to be killed by that attack. ”

Draco stared dumbly at Potter, momentarily not getting where this was coming from. Then it dawned on him.

“Oh. _Shit_.”

“Good job, Malfoy. A very brilliant mind. And here I was, ready to put in a good word for you with the Head of MLE...”

“Shit, I didn't even think about... Wait, what? You would?”

“Not sure if you deserve it. We don't value suicidal tendencies that much in our Department.”

"All right, all right, I get it. So, er... What is the policy on werewolves as of late?”

Potter stared at him for the longest time before rolling his eyes and answering.

“You're not a werewolf, Malfoy. The guy was an Animagus.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Yes, my first hunch was right. The Werewolf Capture Unit followed your Tracker spell and found this guy who lives in a shack in the middle of nowhere, so far from Dunbar that they had to Apparate to go there. And anyway, he has no sign of being our man except for the Tracker. Well, a couple of drops of Veritaserum and he confessed just in time for the morning Prophet. Page 9.”

He threw the paper on Draco's lap. There was a small two-column on the case, no pictures, on how a simple wizard who didn't attend any magic schools somehow learned to transform in a wolf-like creature and used it as a device to terrorize a Muggle town. Draco noticed how his name was listed right next to Potter's for importance and felt a burst of pride in his chest. He wondered if his mother read the paper that morning.

“So... I'm not a werewolf.”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm not. But the Healers who checked on you are, so I'd say it's pretty safe.”

Draco sighed with relief. He really didn't think about the consequences when he jumped in front of Potter, and to tell the truth, he probably would have done it anyway... but Potter didn't need to know any of that.

"Well, I have to get back to work. Turns out my office is indeed flooded with paperwork, but Letty didn't want to distract me from my quest with such a trivial thing. So, er... get well soon, I guess.” he waved awkwardly from the door.

“All right” Draco replied, even more awkwardly. He wished they had more time to discuss the whole I-will-recommend-you-to-the-MLE thing. Not that he was considering becoming an Auror. Or maybe he was? He felt his head pulse and become heavier by the minute, a bit of feeling was coming back to his bandaged arm, and it wasn't a good one. A nurse entered the room with a big glass of clear azure potion for him, and as soon as he drank it he slipped into an easy sleep.

 

 

_Two days after the full moon_

Harry sighed tiredly, letting go of the quill to rotate his right wrist, hoping this would be enough to alleviate the pain. Only back two days, and already feeling the old bones protesting. Merlin, how he enjoyed that little getaway in Dunbar. Back on the field, actually helping people by doing something concrete. It had been quick and clean, little to no Muggle witnesses, no ulterior casualties... the Auror's dream, basically. Well, besides the injured colleague, that is, but Malfoy would be on his feet in a day or two, so it wasn't that bad.

Ah, Malfoy. Harry accidentally let it slip that he thought he would be a good Auror. After hearing why the guy sacrificed his arm though... not so sure he wanted him taking up cases with his office anymore, let alone work in it. But he _was_ good, and ex-Death Eaters were allowed to work in MLE Departments now. Malfoy was an adult; if running in circles around Harry hoping to take a bullet for him was what he wanted, it was not his responsibility to prevent him to do so. Except, if the Head of MLE did allow him to join the Auror's Department (and there was really no reason not to, with Harry Potter's recommendation), it _was_ going to be his responsibility.

Harry sighed again. It was useless to think about it, since he had already asked for an official evaluation for Malfoy as soon as he came back from Dunbar. And, what was he doing, when he still had so much paperwork to catch up to?

He hadn't heard a peep from Malfoy since he saw him in the hospital; not that he was expecting him to write, being convalescent and all, but Harry did send him a Patronus yesterday to inform him of the evaluation, and he didn't receive as much as a _thank you, Potter_. He supposed he deserved it, since he didn't thank him for saving his life with the wolf. They were, basically, back to being childishly annoying to each other.

Not a great start for their future work together.

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published fic, I'm so excited! English is not my first language so sorry if I made mistakes!  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it and are ready for more!


	2. A Sinister Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder mystery and a fundraiser

Draco walked briskly on the worn out carpet he walked just about a thousand times in the last three months.

"Mr Malfoy, good morning," said Letty without as much as lifting her eyes from an important-looking letter.

“Letty. Is he in?”

“I'm afraid you just missed him,” she replied, giving him an apologetic smile.

Draco glared suspiciously at the mahogany door. He could clearly see a shadow interrupting the flow of light under the door, as if someone was leaning against it with their ear pressed against the wood.

"Well, tell him I need to discuss my work, specifically the lack of cases that have been landing on my desk since I started working here," he said, loud enough to be heard by the person he “just missed”.

He slowly went back to his office, one he shared with nine colleagues, and dropped unceremoniously on his seat. From the other end of the room, Weasley gave him the stink eye, then went back to read the paper, scowling at the winking picture of Thaddeus Rowe.

Draco sighed and turned his attention to the same article on the Prophet in front of him, ignoring the picture. He was so sick of seeing that face.

So far, his life as an Auror hadn't been all that exciting. For some reason, Potter thought it would be a good idea to have him be the guy who sits at his desk all day, waiting for upset civilians to come and report any small injustice that happened to them.

Only once he had been allowed to work on the field, and of course it was going to be with Weasley. Needless to say, they didn't get along much. It was probably one of the reasons why Rowe, the black market potion seller they had captured, was now smiling at them from a black and white picture, having just been absolved from all charges for lack of definitive proof. Damn that scoundrel.

Since Rowe's capture about two weeks ago, Draco was back to being the guy who writes reports about missing broomsticks and misplaced cauldrons. The only good thing about his unhappy working situation was that Potter was as active as he was on the field. Since the Dunbar case he had been holed up in his office, leaving it only occasionally to meet up with the other Heads of the MLE Department.

“Never thought being an Auror could be boring,” he mumbled to himself, sighing again.

“Excuse me, you're Malfoy, right?”

A stocky middle-aged man was nervously clutching a pointy hat in front of his chest, his plump face covered in a light sweat.

Draco straightened his back instantly. He briefly debated whether to teach some manners to the stranger, then opted for a more professional behaviour.

“Yes, who...?”

“My wand has been stolen.”

“All right, sir, would you like to sit down?” Draco politely asked, Conjuring a chair from thin air.

“I don't want to sit down, I want my wand to be found!”

Ah, so he was _one of those_. Draco rummaged through his desk drawers, looking for a piece of parchment. He lightly flicked his wand at it, making an official Missing Object Form appear on its surface.

“What's your name, sir?”

“Paul Carroll.”

"Mr Carroll, are you sure you haven't misplaced your wand?"

"Of course I'm sure, do you think I'm stupid?"

"I'm not... It's just procedure, sir. Can you describe your wand to me?"

 

 

Harry, already late, apologized to the witch who was animatedly talking to him, saying there was someone waiting for him inside the restaurant. He was probably supposed to know who the woman was, but right now he couldn't remember, and honestly, he didn't really care.

As the name promised, the Scalding Hotchpotch was a very hot, very colourful, very intimate restaurant. As soon as he entered, he felt his eyes water a bit for the strong smell of spicy food. No one came to welcome him. The only staff member he saw was an out-of-breath waiter trying to balance several dishes without spilling any of the contents on the paying customers, who littered the floor, sitting in colourful cushions.

Luckily, Hermione's frizzy head of hair was pretty much a beacon, so he had no trouble finding her on his own.

“Hi, sorry I'm late...” he apologized, kissing her forehead and struggling to cross his legs without kicking anyone in the vicinity (which was very hard, considering one of his neighbours had an elbow in his ribs).

"I don't know if I can forgive you. You left me here alone with a menu of 72 pages. I think I might be going insane. Would you rather have... Italian, Indian, Thai, Japanese…?"

Harry noticed a proper book in front of him in lieu of the usual two-page menu and felt already exhausted. He opened a random page and chose the first thing he saw, a Valencian Paella.

When the waiter came, he ordered one for Hermione too, since she seemed determined to read the whole menu before committing to one of the many, many dishes.

As they waited (and judging from what he saw, it was going to be a long time), Harry discreetly cast a Muffliato around them both.

"So, er... everything okay?" he awkwardly asked, trying to start with small talk which, both of them knew, was not his forte.

“Yes, Harry, work is fine, marriage is fine, Rose is fine. I won't even ask how _you_ are since I don't think you wanted to meet me for idle chatter. My bet is on Malfoy."

Harry gaped at her.

“How...?”

"For starters, Malfoy kind of seems like the hot topic these days, what between Ron who constantly complains about his unprofessional behaviour 'that cost us the Rowe case', and you with the whole 'he can't wait to risk his life for me'. Also, tonight Ron had a suspicious amount of extra work, that _you_ gave him, so that he was forced to cancel -not that he minds, he hates this kind of place... which is probably why you chose it.”

Harry sighed, shaking his head.

“You should work in my Department, Hermione...”

“No thanks. I love being an Unspeakable and not having to deal with... you know, people. So, what's the problem, this time?”

Suddenly, his clasped hands were so terribly interesting that he couldn't tear his eyes off of them.

"He keeps coming to my office, asking for cases... I don't even bother to let him in anymore, I'm out of excuses."

“Well, yes, he's not wrong. You're the one who let him join the Auror's Department. Let the man do the job you gave him.”

“But-”

“There's no buts! He's an adult, he's even a good Auror, as you told me more than once. And you're not even working on the field, so what's the problem here?”

“Yes, about that... _he_ is the reason why I haven't been. I'm under the impression that he would follow me around, ready to jump in front of me on the first occasion." He still wasn't looking at Hermione, but he pretty much heard her eyes rolling. “You didn't see him in Dunbar. He was so ready to die for me. He would have.”

Hermione's hand came into view, gently tapping his own.

“Harry, you have to let this go. Think of the good he could do. Think how many criminals he could help catch. I still don't fully understand why, out of all the people you would want to protect, he's the one that... oh. Unless...”

Harry tensed, his eyes snapping instantly to his friend's face, desperately trying to read her thoughts.

“Is this about Narcissa Malfoy?”

“How do you even...?”

“I bumped into her in the Minister's lift a couple of months ago. She doesn't seem the type to go check on her son while he's working... She asked something of you, didn't she?”

As a matter of fact, she did, though that was not the only reason why Harry was reluctant to let Malfoy work.

“Yes, she asked me to go easy on him, not to give him cases that had anything to do with Voldemort's old supporters that might hold a grudge towards their family. She pretty much made me a list of things he should steer clear of, then gently reminded me that she lied to Voldemort for me and basically granted our victory, so...” he trailed off.

“You do realize this whole thing is insane, right?” Hermione said after a thoughtful silence. “She's too protective, he's almost thirty years old! However. There is a way you could keep her calm _and_ let him work on cases. You're not going to like this, though.”

Harry nodded, desperate, waiting for a game-changing idea.

“Just… let him believe he saved you. Pretend to be in danger, make it convincing, and he will feel good about himself without any of you actually dying. That’s the goal, isn’t it?”

 

 

Draco downed the last of his second Fire Whiskey, still looking for Blaise among the Leaky Cauldron crowd. He spotted him being all friendly with Neville Longbottom, laughing together as if they hadn't hated each other all throughout the Hogwarts years. How did he even do that was beyond Draco's comprehension.

“You know how I told you I had to fill in for Teddy Reese last week?” Pansy asked, drunkenly drawling her speech. Draco turned his attention to her again.

“Uh?”

“Merlin, do you ever listen to me? Remember how he fell from a broom the day before he had to cover the Quafflepunchers-Bangers match? With Ginny Weasley?”

Now Draco was listening.

“Yes, I thought that would interest you. We almost had a good time, her and I. Almost. There was bound to be a bit of friction... but you know how I like friction” she grinned, taking another sip of Daisyroot Draught. “Anyway, we ended up celebrating  the Bangers' win at a pub and turns out, we're both the friendly-drunk type.”

She kept smiling, waiting for him to ask. Draco obliged.

“So...?”

"Oh, you know, she told me how she and Potter are still on good terms, but their past relationship was... _lacking_ , if you know what I mean.”

Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I don't know why people tell me their secrets. Don't they realize I'm a reporter? I could ruin their life” she said, downing the remainder of the Draught. “Well, anyway, she let me touch her biceps. She hasn't been playing for a year and they're still made of steel. Warm, freckled steel...” she dreamily trailed off.

"All right, no more alcohol for you tonight," Draco said, making a show of taking away her empty glass.

“Oh, thank Merlin, I was about to do the same” Blaise said, coming to sit in front of Draco with a pint of mead. “So, are you done talking about Potter, or should I come back later?”

“Actually, I haven't even started. I was waiting for you.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, raised his glass to no one in particular and started chugging.

"I'm glad to know that you prefer Longbottom's company to your friends'," Draco said as he watched the scene.

Blaise wiped his lips with the left sleeve.

"Hey, that man is going to be my future children's teacher someday, I'm trying to give them a head start in Herbology, you should do the same."

Draco and Pansy both raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Ah. Right, nevermind.”

“So, did Potter give you shit for the Rowe case yet?” Pansy asked, looking sobered up all of a sudden.

“Not really. He still refuses to see me. Why the hell did he make me an Auror, if I was going to sit behind a desk anyway?  I know I don't have a chance with him, I just... I just want to be rid of him as soon as possible, so that this... this...” he gestured helplessly, “ _thing_ can go away. He's keeping me close but also avoiding me. It's driving me mad.”

The alcohol was making him sound childish but he couldn't help it. He was frustrated. He wanted to work _with_ Potter so that he could _stop_ working with Potter, but _Potter_ was the one preventing him to do so. He knew Pansy and Blaise couldn't help him solve this issue, but they could at least support him and let him vent, right?

He looked at his friends, noticing they were exchanging eloquent glances.

“What.”

“Well, Ginny told me something else. A dangerous move on her part, to tell such things to a gossip reporter...”

“Please. Spit it out.”

Pansy cautiously looked around before getting closer.

“She said... that Potter secretly dated a Muggle for a couple of months last year. Like, a man. A Muggle man. A male Muggle man. ”

Slack-jawed, Draco stared at Pansy, his mind going a million miles an hour, trying desperately to grasp at some kind of revelation in his tipsy state.

“So it's _me_ ," he said, at the same time that Blaise said, "You do have a chance then!"

His friends looked at him, confused.

“Don't you get it? He may like men, but he doesn't like _me_ . I always thought... no, I _hoped_ he was straight, then I had no chance from the beginning. Now I _know_ he's not, and that means that he just doesn't like who _I_ am.”

“Oh. I thought you would take a more optimistic approach,” Pansy said guiltily.

"Then you don't know me at all," Draco said, getting up to order another Fire Whisky.

 

 

Harry scratched his head, messing up the already untidy hair. This was the perfect occasion to test Hermione's plan, but he was still reluctant to put it into motion. Time was of the essence though, so he couldn't really afford to waste any more of it. He caught an empty memo droning around his head and simply wrote “ _come to my office_ ”, trusting that Draco would recognise his scrawl.

Sure enough, barely a minute after he sent the memo flying to the Aurors' office, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Harry made sure to study intently a piece of parchment in front of him while Malfoy zig-zagged to his desk, trying to avoid the clutter that infested his office.

“You needed me?” Malfoy asked.

Harry wished he wouldn't phrase it that way.

"Yes. There's been a murder in Islington that needs investigating as soon as possible."

He could clearly see how Malfoy's eyes dilated slightly in surprise. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Killing curse?” he almost whispered.

“Not sure, haven't seen the body yet. Pick up what you need then meet me in the atrium. A direct Floo link has been arranged for us.”

Malfoy nodded sternly, but Harry could swear he saw a bit of an excited skip in his stride as he walked out the door.

 

 

Draco met his boss in front of the Aurors' Emergency fireplace. He still couldn't believe he was going to investigate a murder with Harry Potter. When he received that memo, fifteen minutes ago, he thought he was finally going to be scolded for the Rowe fiasco. And though he could admit there was a hint of hope that he would get a case, he never thought it could be with the Head of his Department himself. As he was getting back to the desk to collect his things, he discreetly pinched himself to make sure this wasn't a dream. It wouldn't be the first, though those tended to end in an... improbable way, to say the least.

Potter went first, annoyance clear as day on his expression as he enunciated the murder scene address. Hiding a snigger (though no one was paying attention to him), Draco took a handful of Floo powder and repeated the address as clearly as he could.

Soon he was removing ash residues from his coat, walking into a small, intimate flat. Potter was standing in the middle of the living room, probably getting an overview of the scene. Draco did the same.

The first thing that caught his eye was, of course, the victim. A man in his thirties, sprawled half on the carpet, half on the parquet floor. His eyes were wide open and blood-shot, a drop of blood trailing down his chin. Just a couple of inches from his right hand laid a wand, presumably his own. He was dressed in nightclothes and a messily tied nightgown over it.

The flat didn't look damaged, no signs of a struggle nor a spell battle. So the victim had been either surprised by an intruder or betrayed by someone he knew.

"Check for traces of magic on the door," Potter said, gesturing to the entrance.

Draco obliged. There was a protective spell on the door, most likely a Protego Totalum that had been active for a long period of time. Nothing unusual there.

"No sign of Unlocking charms here, just Protective ones," he reported to Potter, who nodded almost distractedly. He was crouched next to the soft-looking armchair, seemingly observing something outside Draco's field of view. As he neared the spot, he saw that the handle of a wand was peeking from under the chair.

“It could be the murder weapon. We should check the last spell it performed,” he said after a few seconds, since Potter seemed to be lost in thought. He stretched his left arm and was about to take the wand, when Potter's hand suddenly closed around his own, stopping it. Draco stared at it first, then at his boss.

“Wait. Don't touch it.”

Draco looked back to the wand. Did Potter see some kind of curse around it that he couldn't see? He was also embarrassingly aware of their hands still touching, which was probably why he couldn't concentrate on what he was doing.

Potter's hand jerked back as if he heard his thoughts and started rummaging in his cloak pockets. He produced a black plastic box, slightly rectangular, which contained a brush with long, soft bristles and a small cylindrical container.

“Could you... Levitate it, please?” Potter asked while unscrewing the container and revealing a thin dark grey powder inside of it. Confused as ever, Draco obliged and observed as Potter dipped the tip of the brush into the grey dust and started spreading it onto the wand's handle.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Draco finally asked. Though Potter seemed to be completely taken by the task at hand, he calmly replied to his question.

“It's Muggle procedure. It won't alter the evidence.”

Once he had covered its entirety, he Conjured a roll of Spello-Tape and carefully stuck it, one piece at a time, to the spots where the wielder's fingertips left a mostly whole trace.

“Why are you using Muggle procedure in a magic murder?” Draco asked, honestly curious.

“The old Head of Department wouldn't let me. Now I'm in charge and I get to do what I want. Also, it could be useful, who knows. You can perform the Reverse spell now,” he said, handing him the wand.

Draco did so, after wiping the handle clean. As he worked, he was aware of Potter sticking the pieces of tape to a piece of parchment and putting the weird kit away in his cloak.

“Last spell is an Engorgement charm,” Draco concluded.

Potter, back to examining the body, nodded as his wand emitted a pulsating green light towards the victim's chest.

"We'll only be sure once the coroner confirms it, but I think his heart has been Engorged until it exploded," he said with a grimace.

Draco considered the wand he was still holding.

“Do you think... this is the killer's wand?”

“Unlikely... unless they're very stupid. I'm sure that is the wand that murdered the man, but it did not belong to whoever killed him. I want you to take it to a wandmaker, see if we can find out who it belongs to.”

 

 

After Malfoy disappeared in a burst of green flames in the fireplace, Harry thoroughly examined the whole flat, finding the victim's ID card: his name was Marvin P. Douglas, graduated from Hogwarts in 1981. For a thirty-something bachelor, Marvin sure kept his flat pretty clean; he either had a part-time house elf, a lover that came to visit often or he simply liked to keep his house clean. As an almost-thirty single man himself, Harry was more inclined to believe the second option.

From documents and letters found ordinately stacked on the desk in Marvin’s studio, he found out the man was employed at the Applemint Bookworm Library, situated in Highbury. That would be his next stop.

The library was hidden from Muggle eyes under the pretence of one of those buildings that were constantly under renovation. Harry gingerly stepped under the scaffoldings, ignoring the "caution" signs and lightly drummed on the glass door, just to be sure that it was, in fact, a magical library. To his surprise, a pair of huge, round green eyes peered at him through the dusty glass. After a couple of seconds during which the young house elf suspiciously glared at him, their eyes widened in recognition and the little creature hurriedly opened the door for him with an exaggerated bow. Harry was sadly reminded of Dobby, and for a moment he felt a boulder pressing on his chest.

"Good morning, Mr Harry Potter. We are honoured that you would visit our modest library. How can I help you, Harry Potter, sir?" they said, staring at him in awe.

“Ah, yes. Good morning. You are...?”

"It's Loulie, sir, just little old Loulie, who has been working for twenty-three hours in a row and is a bit tired," they said, bowing again and mumbling the last words.

“Loulie, does a Marvin P. Douglas work here?” Harry asked.

"He does, Harry Potter sir, but Mr Douglas hasn't shown up for his shift yet. He's running late again. If he doesn't show up by ten o'clock, Loulie will be forced to notify the boss, and she won't like that. She will fire him for sure this time."

The last part of the answer was barely audible, as it was almost whispered to the side.

“Well, Loulie, I need you to contact your boss immediately, because I have bad news.”

 

 

Five minutes later, Harry was sitting in an office in the back of the library, a cup of tea in front of him and an anxious woman in her sixties sitting across from him, behind a sturdy desk.

“So, what has he done this time?” she finally asked.

“What do you think happened?”

“I don't know, honestly. Burglary? Drunk jinxing? Plain jinxing?” She sighed tiredly. “I tried to give him a chance. Many chances, actually. He just keeps disappointing me. My poor sister... if she knew what a scoundrel her son turned out to be... Well, I mean, she _knows_ , but... I'm sorry, I'm blabbering. Tell me what happened.”

"Mrs Keegan, Marvin has been found dead in his flat this morning. He was murdered."

For all his experience as an Auror, he never really learned how to give the bad new to the family.

The woman sighed again, the wrinkles around her eyes now full of sadness.

“Oh. Well, can't say it's surprising, really. He hung out with a lot of shady people.”

"Can I ask you a few questions about him, Mrs Keegan?"

“Absolutely, but I'm afraid I won't be much help. Even though he was family and we worked together, we weren't very close.”

“That's fine. Just tell me what you can.”

The woman told him some useful things about Douglas' past, but really knew nothing about these “shady people” she mentioned.

“Once Loulie saw him conducting some, er, illegal business in the History of Magic section -hardly anyone visits that part of the library- and once they told me, I very clearly said to him that if it happened again I would fire him forthwith. As far as I know, he never did that again, not in here.”

Harry nodded, finishing to write down the statement.

"Thank you, Mrs Keegan. We will keep you posted if we find out anything new."

"You know where to find me if you have more questions." She politely smiled at him, wanting him to leave.

Harry walked back to the front of the library. He might need to come back to examine the place, later on. Maybe Douglas used the library as a smuggling base, or stacked stolen items on the shelves.

"Goodbye, Mr Harry Potter, sir, we hope you enjoyed your stay!" Loulie screamed from behind a pile of heavy-looking books. Harry waved in their direction. Loulie needed to be interrogated, too.

But now, he needed to regroup at the office with Draco and see if he found out something about the wand.

His hand was twisting the doorknob when Mrs Keegan called him, coming out of her office.

"Mr Potter! I forgot to tell you! The murder happened in his Islington flat, didn't it?"

“It did. Or, at least, it looks that way.”

“Well, you might have an eyewitness, then! My sister, Marvin's mother... she died in that very flat a few years back. Her ghost wanders there more often than not.”

 

 

Draco made his way to the Aurors' office as slow as humanly possible.

The wand from the crime scene was incredibly heavy in his cloak pocket. He just started working on this case and he already screwed up. Was Potter going to bench him and work on it with Weasley? He knew he deserved to be punished, but the thought still stung. Merlin, he hoped Potter wouldn't think he was incompetent and send him back to Investigations.

He cautiously poked his head into the main office: some of his colleagues were busy at their desks, others were absent, working on the field. Weasley was there, sorting through a mountain of paperwork. As if he sensed his presence, his icy eyes locked with Draco's, glaring at him with disdain. Draco quickly pulled back and went ahead to Potter's office.

Letty barely looked at him, “He's waiting for you,” she said distractedly.

Draco swallowed nervously before pushing the heavy door. Potter was at his desk, scribbling away on a piece of parchment.

"Ah, Malfoy. News on the wand?" he asked hopefully, putting down the quill.

Draco nodded, laying the wand on the desk in front of Potter.

“Red oak, eleven inches, dragon heartstring. Ollivander says it's not one of his, probably Kiddell's.”

“Shit. He's been dead for a couple of years. You think the family kept his shop records?”

Draco sighed. “No need. I think I know who it belongs to.”

Potter slightly tilted his head to the side.

“You do?”

_Here we go._

“A couple of days ago a man named Paul Carroll reported his wand missing. It fits the description.”

“Missing?”

“Well... he said it was stolen. But at the time I thought he was after the insurance money and after listening to his testimony I decided to file it as misplaced.”

Potter pinched the bridge of his nose, moving the glasses up on his forehead.

“Why would you do that?”

“My better judgement told me to. He said that he had it in the pocket of a new cloak, one he wasn't used to, so he kept checking every now and then to see if it was still there. Until one time he reached up and it was gone. I asked him if he bumped into someone or if he saw anyone suspicious, but he said no. Excuse me for not trusting a rude middle-aged man who did nothing but insult me while I tried to fill out his request!”

Draco noticed he was shouting only when he stopped talking, chest rising and descending quickly as he tried to catch his breath. Potter studied him for a few seconds.

“Fine, I admit it sounds like he simply lost it. Nonetheless, I want to speak with him, he may have some useful information for the case. He could even be a suspect, who knows.”

His tone was not angry nor disappointed, which comforted Draco as he turned around to do as commanded. The mahogany door almost slammed on his face as someone opened it from outside, and Draco found himself face to face with Weasley. His glare was murderous as always.

“Ron, not now, I'm in the middle of-”

“It's urgent.”

Potter sighed.

“Fine, you get five minutes. Close the door, Malfoy.”

 

 

“And don't say you're not playing favourites, I'm the only one who's doing the paperwork from Rowe's case, and the fuck-up was all on his part! What the fuck, Harry! I don't care if you fancy him, you can't keep ignoring all of his mistakes!”

Harry was so glad he pre-emptively cast a Muffliato on the door, though he wasn't sure if it could cover up that level of shouting. Mrs Weasley would have been proud of her son for his steel lungs.

“Dammit, Ron, we've been over this. I don't fancy him. And I assume Hermione told you about the plan-”

“'The plan'!? Yes, and it’s the dumbest thing I ever heard!”

“It was your wife's idea.”

“Okay then, please, don't tell her I said that.” Ron's tone dropped suddenly, as if he feared that Hermione could be listening in with an incredibly long Extendable Ear. “Faking a deadly situation so that Malfoy can feel like a hero? That's mental, that's what it is. I can't believe you're going through all this trouble for _him_. Do you remember what happened the last time you eloped together? You bitched and moaned about extra paperwork for a week, and that was only a three days backlog! If you-”

Harry raised his hand and Ron reluctantly stopped talking. Best friends or not, he was still the boss.

“None of this concerns you, Ron. As my friend, I understand you are upset, but let _me_ deal with this. As for the paperwork, if you’re not up for it, I can take some.”

“Never said I’m not up for it,” Ron mumbled.

“Anything else?” Harry patiently asked.

“Yes, actually. If you become BFFs with Malfoy, or _more_ , don't expect me to invite him to our family dinners," he said, slamming the door shut.

Harry sighed and tilted his head back, resting it on the worn-out headrest of his Muggle office chair. This whole situation was getting more stressful by the minute. He allowed himself a few moments of rest with his eyes closed, then snapped out of it and started making a list of the people involved in the case.

There was Marvin P. Douglas, the victim; Mrs Keegan, his aunt and boss; Loulie, co-worker and witness of illegal activity; Mrs Douglas, the ghost of his deceased mother and possible eyewitness; Paul Carroll, the victim of a related crime, or maybe a suspect. And the wand. The wand that was supposedly stolen and used to commit the murder.

He also had to inquire about the motive. Douglas' aunt thought it might be about a deal gone wrong, but Harry wasn't convinced. Would a man who lived with the ghost of his mother conduct illicit activity in his own flat?

He was so out of the loop that he didn't remember how to conduct a proper murder investigation. All that paperwork was driving him mad. He suddenly remembered how he collected fingerprints from the murder weapon, and a wave of pride run through him. That was his ace in the hole: no one in the wizarding world would expect something like that.

First, though, he had to round up the suspects. He hoped Malfoy could get hold of Paul Carroll and set up an interview for that same day. Ron's words suddenly echoed in his head, "you can't keep ignoring all of his mistakes!". Harry knew he was right. Somehow though, he couldn't bring himself to punish him properly. He kept hiding behind excuses, but deep down he was well aware of the real reason, which had something to do with the way Malfoy’s hair fell into his eyes sometimes, and how veins were clearly visible on his elegant wrists. He just didn't want anyone else to know, _especially_ Ron. Out of all the people he knew, Ron would have taken it the worst. As per Draco... well, he just wanted out of Harry's life, he said it himself when he was laying in that hospital bed, and Harry was doing what he could to speed the process. It would be like ripping off a band-aid. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.

 

 

Paul Carroll impatiently drummed his fingers on the Interrogation Room desk, occasionally snorting in annoyance as he glared at Draco, who was sitting opposite him.

Draco hoped Potter was going to show up soon, because Carroll was thoroughly annoyed enough without having to wait an extra twenty minutes for him.

“So, you have news about my wand?” he asked.

“Yes, and we want to ask you some more questions.”

“You found the wand, what more do you need? Why are you keeping me in this room?”

“We need to conduct a private interrogation-”

“Interrogation?! Am I under arrest for something?”

“No, sir, we just want to speak with you.”

Finally, Potter entered the room, apologizing to Carroll as he shook his hand.

"Mr Carroll, as my colleague surely informed you, we have found your wand. Sadly, it was used to commit a crime, so we need some more information about the theft."

Draco immediately noticed how the man held Potter in much higher consideration and didn't dare to interrupt. He tightened his fists under the table.

“As of now, we can't discuss the details of the crime with you, but we still hope you will be cooperative. You can have your wand back once we're done.”

"Of course, Mr Potter."

“In your testimony, you said that you frequently checked your wand because you were wearing a new cloak that day. Can you tell me exactly when and where you realised it was missing?”

Before answering, Carroll sniffled, wrinkling his big round nose.

“Yes, er, I was walking down Islington, just before two PM.”

Beside him, Draco felt Potter stiffen.

“What were you doing in Islington, if I may ask?”

“Going back to work. Sometimes I spend lunch break at a library-”

“Is it the Applemint Bookworm Library in Highbury?”

“Yes, exactly! How did you know?”

Something akin to a triumphant grin formed on Potter's face. Draco hurriedly wrote down a note, assuming it was something important.

“Are you positively sure that you had your wand when you left the building?”

“Yes, I actually checked twice before it disappeared.”

“Did you carry something else in that pocket?”

“Not usually, no. But I guess my kid wanted me to have a snack that day, so she put a Liquorice Wand in there. I ate it that afternoon.”

“One more question, sir. Did you ever remove your cloak inside the library?”

Carroll seemed to hesitate.

“Yes, I think so? They always put up Warming charms, so I must've.”

Potter, seemingly satisfied, gave Carroll his wand back, shook his hand and showed him to the door. The man barely acknowledged Draco's presence as he left. Merlin, Draco hoped that was the last time he ever saw him.

"You seem content with the interrogation," Draco observed as they walked back to Potter's office. Potter hummed, smiling.

“Can you guess what happened?” he asked, turning to him.

"Not really," Draco replied, feeling stupid for not seeing whatever Potter was seeing.

“Let me show you something.”

A new stack of papers stood in the middle of the office desk. Potter pointed at them, inviting Draco to give a look.

“Those are Douglas' Hogwarts marks. Notice something?”

Draco leafed through them. He was a mediocre student at best, but something did stand out.

“He's an ace at Transfiguration. Of course! Pretty useful skill for a smuggler and thief! He stole the wand from the unattended cloak, and transfigured a Liquorice Wand to cover for it!”

Potter nodded, excitement making his eyes glimmer.

“Wait, so _he_ was the one who stole it, not the murderer," Draco mumbled as an afterthought.

"Yes. We already know he was killed by someone he knew and trusted, since the Protego Totalus was still active when we got there. So maybe, he was showing this person the wand, and they seized the opportunity. It's time to talk to a possible eyewitness... Oh, you're going to love this."

 

 

Harry deliberately kept vague about the existence Mrs Douglas' ghost, just to mess a bit with Malfoy.

"Apparently, his mother could have been there last night, we have to speak with her," he said, as they both shook off the ash from their clothes. Not even a Floo trip could put a hold on his good mood: the case was going smoothly, it was still the first day of investigations and they already solved one of the major mysteries. The body had been removed, and there was no trace that a murder happened there less than last twenty-four hours earlier.

"Mrs Dougla-as! Are you home?" he shouted to the empty flat.

“Isn't this rude? Barging in if someone still lives here...?” Malfoy said, nervously straightening his tie.

“Well, maybe 'living' is the wrong term...”

He caught a silvery movement on the corner of his eye, passing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. "Mrs Douglas! We're from the Aurors Department, can we have a word, please?"

The luminous ghost of a robust old woman showed herself coming through the wall, her hands authoritatively on her hips.

“The other young man is right, it is _rude_ to show up unannounced. And to make fun of the dead.”

Harry was taken aback and felt his cheeks warm up.

“Ah, you're perfectly right, ma'am. I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you. We are here on official business, and sadly ghosts are not considered, er, living people, so as far as it concerns us-”

“I don't like you, young man.”

He was embarrassingly aware of Malfoy trying to suffocate a snigger beside him.

“Ma'am, your son was killed-”

“Yes, I know!” she all but shrilled. The echo resonated loudly in the room.

"This is a lovely flat, Mrs Douglas. You take care of it, don't you?" Malfoy politely asked.

“Oh, thank you. I break my back trying to keep it clean... although, now that Marvin is gone...” her voice trailed off, finishing the sentence with a little sniffle.

“We're here to find out who's responsible for his death, ma'am. Can you give us a moment of your time?”

“Sure thing.”

Malfoy sure was good at talking with deceased old ladies.

“I'm really sorry if relieving the events is painful for you, please try to answer best as you can. Were you here when your son was murdered?”

“No, I.. I wasn't. I was taking a walk around the neighbourhood.”

“Do you have any idea who could have done this?”

“No, not really. I mean, the only person who could... but it's impossible...”

“Please, tell us what you know.”

“My Marvin, he had this... lady friend. He asked me to leave every time she came to visit, so I did. As far as I know, they sat down in the living room, talking and drinking. I don’t think they were in love, but she looked like a sweet woman...”

"This 'friend', do you know anything about her? Her name, her profession...?"

"I heard Marvin call her Milla...  I only saw her once, briefly. She had long ginger hair and a way-too-bright red lipstick."

Harry and Draco exchanged an meaningful look. Milla was an unusual name, especially if paired with red hair.

Mrs Douglas had no other relevant information after that, so they thanked her and left her to clean the ashes from the living room floor.

“I'm impressed. Didn't know you had a way with old ladies,” Harry said once they arrived in the Ministry atrium.

"Well, it only takes some good manners, really."

Harry could almost hear the “ _something you clearly lack_ ” in his tone, which he mercifully didn't say it out loud. It wasn't Harry’s intention to be rude, he was just trying to be funny. Something else he wasn't good at, apparently.

The atrium was almost empty, save for a few tardy employees who hurried to the fireplaces, probably fearing someone would ask them to stay overtime if they lingered a second more. Harry thought about Ron, who was probably still working at his desk and felt a pang of guilt. He should go and relieve him for tonight.

He realised Draco had been waiting for him to say something.

"Er... You can go home if you'd like."

“Aren't we going to investigate this Milla woman?”

“I was going to check for previous charges before going home-”

“I'm coming with, then.”

Harry regarded him for a second.

“Don't worry, Malfoy, no one is going to try to kill me inside the Ministry,” he finally said, rolling his eyes.

“It wouldn't be the first time, would it? Besides, that's not the reason why. We're partners, we should be working on this together.”

 

 

Weasley was still working intently at his desk, but he lifted his head the moment they entered the office, as if he had placed a Draco-Malfoy-specific Intruder charm.

"Ron, go home," Potter commanded as he tiredly walked to the arrest archives at the other side of the room.

“You sure? I still have, like, a load of stuff-”

“I'm sure, and you know what? Don't come in tomorrow. Take the day off.”

“But-”

“It's an order from your superior.”

Potter motioned Draco to come closer and dumped a huge stack of files into his arms. "Take these to your desk, start looking for any feminine first name that could be shortened in Milla."

Weasley started to collect his things, occasionally glaring at Draco for no particular reason.

"All right, see ya tomorrow night, then," he said as he walked backwards towards the exit.

Potter distractedly pushed his glasses back up. “Is it Family Dinner Time already...?”

Weasley sniggered. “I knew you would forget. It's the Charity Fundraising for Hogwarts' Less Fortunate. You know, the event you highly endorsed?”

Potter slammed his free hand onto his forehead, almost knocking the glasses off.

“Shit.”

“Yep. Well, good luck with the extra work!” Weasley shouted, cheerfully waving, and left.

A long silence followed.

“You're coming, aren't you?” Potter asked, bending over an empty desk.

“Er. I don't think I would be welcome. Besides, since you'll be busy there, shouldn't I continue working on the case?”

“No. You're coming. You'll be my ticket out of there. We'll excuse ourselves early. For work. _Together_.”

Draco made a non-committal sound, staring intently at the names of the criminals, trying not to imagine going to a party as Potter's plus one.

“Why did you endorse it if you don't care for it?”

“I care about the cause, I just don't like going to the thing. I've been to way too many high-end events in the past years, and let me tell you, they don't get any better. If you'll be there to _save me_ , though...”

Draco kept his eyes steady on the files, not moving a single muscle and terribly aware of the heat that was spreading to his ears.

“Don't even try, Potter. It doesn't count as saving your life,” he managed to say after a while.

“Aw. Not even a fraction? Like, a twenty-five percent?”

His tone was so flirty that Draco had to look up at his face to believe it. Potter seemed as bewildered as he was. After staring at each other in embarrassment for what felt like an hour, they both silently went back to work.

“Fine, I'll go.”

 

 

They called it a night at two in the morning. The following day they met up at seven AM, both looking like they could use some more sleep, and went back to looking through arrest reports. They finished checking the records up to three years before, then Potter suggested they interrupt to have lunch, and then swing by the library to speak with Mrs Keegan and Loulie, and Draco gladly accepted.

They inquired about Milla, asking if they'd ever seen or heard about her, but nothing new nor relevant emerged from their answers. After they said goodbye to Mrs Keegan, Loulie insisted on accompanying them to the door. No one thought much of it, but just before they crossed the threshold, the little elf grabbed a fistful of Potter's cloak and refused to let go until Potter bent over to them.

"Mr Harry Potter, sir, Loulie is terribly ashamed to have been part of Mr Douglas' crimes sometimes. He would order Loulie to distract the customers, but Loulie had no idea he was going to steal from them! Loulie swears! But if Mr Harry Potter and his partner feel like Loulie is guilty, Loulie will follow, and accept the punishment Loulie deserves!"

Potter stared at them very seriously for a second, then affectionately patted their head with a kind smile.

"You didn't commit any crime, Loulie. You had to do what Mr Douglas told you, it's not your fault. Right, _partner_?”

Draco, caught by surprise by being asked, stammered slightly.

“R-right.”

His heart hammered against his ribs for some reason.

“Loulie is very happy to hear this, but still feels responsible. Please, if Harry Potter ever needs help, he should call Loulie. Loulie will come at any time!”

Potter patted their head affectionately again. “Sure Loulie, I will.”

  


 

"Well, we might as well Apparate each to his own home and meet up again for the Fundraiser," Potter said, closing the umpteenth file with discouragement.

They were back to the Aurors' office and had been working on those bloody reports for hours. Draco had entirely avoided looking at the time for fear of losing his mind.

"So we can be even more bored and annoyed before we come back here? How delightful," he commented, slightly exaggerating his sarcasm to be sure Potter wouldn't take him too seriously.

Potter snorted.

“Yeah, can't wait. The thing starts at eight o'clock, be sure to be fashionably late... I know I will be. And wear something nice, will you?”

 

 

The Victoria and Albert Museum was way more crowded than he expected. The event had been publicised on the Prophet and Harry himself had talked about how important it was for people to participate. He suddenly realised that he would have to make a speech, probably. He hoped he could sneak out before that happened.

As he walked up the stairs, he heard unfamiliar voices calling his name. He waved in that general direction, without even knowing who it was. The sooner he got in, the sooner he'd come out.

The venue was already pretty full, even though it was barely eight-thirty. Hermione's hair, as characteristic as ever, was the compass he used to make his way through the crowd. She hugged him immediately, and Ron promptly put a glass of champagne in his hand, winking knowingly. They chatted a bit about which of their old Hogwarts classmates would show up, and other idle topics, more to have an excuse not to work the room than anything else.

Harry felt a hand tap him on the shoulder and turned, ready to jokingly scold Malfoy for being late, and found himself face to face with none other than Ginny. He awkwardly exchanged kisses on the cheek, then waited as Ginny gave him a once over.

“You look smart. Who dressed you?”

“Me?”

“Mh. You came alone?”

“Yes, but I'm meeting...”

Too late he realised she was asking if he brought a date.

"You look good, too," he said instead of finishing the previous sentence, but her smile was way too knowing.

 

 

“Draco, my dear! I didn't know you were coming!”

Pansy forcefully made her way through the crowd to throw her arms around his neck.

“Hey... you look gorgeous. What are _you_ doing here, though?” Draco asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“What, you don't think I could be charitable and hold to heart the lives of future witches and wizards?”

“No.”

She pouted theatrically, her expression made more dramatic by the dark lipstick she was wearing.

“Come here, let me take a picture.”

He rolled his eyes, knowing her too well to think he could easily escape this.

“It's all good press! But first, you need your arm candy. Where's Potter? Potter!”

Draco let her drag him by the sleeve through the venue until she spotted a redhead.

“Oh, there's Ginny! SHe will know where Potter is... Hey Gin- Oh.”

The woman who turned around and looked at them was not Ginny. She looked older and her lipstick was way too strong.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” Pansy apologised.

“No problem,” the woman replied with a courtesy smile. Her accent was slightly slavic.

His mind whirling, Draco absently followed Pansy as she started moving again. Red hair, bright red lipstick... He came back to his surroundings to find Potter in front of him, greeting him with a nod. With his hair artfully combed and expensive-looking clothes, he looked positively _dashing_. So much so that for a moment Draco forgot that he had to tell him something important.

Before he could, however, Pansy vigorously pushed him in Potter's direction and put a glass of champagne in his hand.

“Smile for the camera!”

“I apologize for Pansy, she's so...”

“Energetic. Yeah.”

He didn't think about it at the time, but he was pretty sure Pansy and Potter had never spoken or even been in the same room after the Battle of Hogwarts. When she suggested they turn Potter over to the Dark Lord. Well, that was... awkward, to say the least.

Potter dragged him away from their group of friends after Draco, communicating only through eyebrows movement, made him understand that he had something to tell him about the case.

“So, anyway, what is it? It seemed urgent.”

“I saw someone in there, a woman with red hair and bright lipstick. It could be nothing, but...” he let the words trail off, hoping Potter would fill in the blanks.

“Right. I say we go over and casually chat her up. I _am_ supposed to talk to the guests, after all.”

 

 

Harry followed Malfoy as he tried to spot the suspicious woman in the crowd. Luckily, and in some ways also unfortunately, she was speaking with Augustus Hughes, from the Department of Mysteries. The woman fit the general description Mrs Douglas gave them, but so did at least five other women in the venue. Her heavy-lidded eyes terribly reminded him of Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Ah, Augustus!” Harry greeted, sounding way more cheerful than he actually was. “I'm so glad you could make it.”

Augustus smiled with the fake pleasure of someone who met a person he was trying to avoid. “I'll be damned, it's Harry Potter himself. I kept hearing around you would show up eventually, but you know me, I'm a 'I'll believe it when I see it' kind of man.”

"You and me both, Augustus," Harry said, trying to put an end to that conversation as soon as possible. "I don't believe I know the lady" he added, hoping to be introduced.

“Ah, yes. Dear, this is Harry Potter, though I'm sure you could have guessed. And that...” he regarded Malfoy acknowledging his presence for the first time, his expression turning cold, “...is Draco Malfoy. This is Ludmilla Sokol, visiting our country from Bulgaria.”

Harry and Malfoy both tried not to show any particular reaction to her name. The woman giggled, waving her champagne glass frivolously.

“I can't believe I'm so lucky, my first visit to Britain and I get to meet the famous Harry Potter!”

She extended her hand, back side up, as if she expected him to kiss it. Harry reluctantly obliged.

“And you... Draco Malfoy, is it? Not as famous as your friend here,” she said, performing the same gesture. Draco took her hand and turned it sideways as he shook it.

“More like _in_ famous, this one," Augustus Hughes half-whispered, his real sentiments seeping clearly through the playful tone.

"So, what brings you to the UK, Ms Sokol?" Harry asked, trying to get a conversation going. He noticed how her champagne glass was more than half empty. If he could only take it off her hands and check her fingerprints...

"Augustus. We met a couple of years ago in Bulgaria while he was there to do his secret work. There were sparks, but none of us had free time from job... until now. As soon as they say 'you can take vacation', I organize Portkey travel to London," she explained with a fond smile, barely stopping to catch her breath. It almost sounded like she prepared an excuse for something. She drank a long sip. Augustus nodded as if her story needed his approval.

Harry made a mental note to check if Augustus Hughes ever set foot in Bulgaria.

“I see. I hope you're enjoying our country, and tonight as well. Ah, your glass is almost empty, let me find you a new one,” he said, all but snatching it from her hands, carefully touching only the stem. He snapped his fingers, and a crystal tray appeared between them, hovering at shoulder height. As she took a new one, he stealthily hid the one with her fingerprints under his cloak.

With a slight bow of the head, he excused himself, saying he had to work the room. Malfoy followed, without bothering to say goodbye.

"Either we found our woman, or this is one hell of a coincidence," Malfoy said once they were alone outside the Museum, wrapped up in a Warming and a Muffliato charm.

"We will find out soon enough," Harry said, producing the glass from the folds of his cloak. Draco looked at him quizzically. "Her fingerprints are on the glass. If she's the one who killed Douglas, they will match the ones on the murder weapon."

“How’d you figure that?”

"Everyone has different fingerprints. That's how Muggles do it, and believe it or not, it has been an instrumental tool in many murder cases. The wizarding community is way too proud to borrow Muggle methods, but in my opinion, we could learn a lot from them."

The look Malfoy was giving him was not one of disagreement as he expected. Instead, his eyes were dark and fixed on Harry's lips. Harry, caught by surprise, felt a wave of heat flood his body, and he was pretty sure it wasn't the Warming charm's fault.

Clearing his throat, he looked away and tried to focus on a happy memory. His wand produced the familiar, shiny shape of a stag to which he whispered instructions. Once it galloped away, he let himself down on the cold stairs. Malfoy did the same, and they sat in silence for a bit. Was he imagining all of this? This weird tension, this... mutual attraction? With his former rival? He shooed the thought away, now was definitely _not_ the time.

“This is fun,” he said, trying to distract his own mind. “I missed doing this. Investigating, looking for clues. Suspecting foreign people, stealing empty glasses.” He smiled fondly. “I barely even used my wand, and yet I got more action tonight than in the last three months.”

“You're not telling me that tracking down a killer is more exciting than dealing with paperwork, are you?”

Harry turned to look at Draco, who was grinning at him. Harry grinned back.

“I hate my stupid work.”

“Well, maybe you should-”

A loud snap interrupted Malfoy mid-sentence. Loulie had just Apparated in front of them, a piece of parchment in their tiny hands.

“Harry Potter, sir. Loulie hopes this is what you asked for.”

 

 

Draco watched Potter work with the fingerprint kit without really following what he was doing. This was the moment of truth: if those fingerprints matched, they had a solid proof that Ludmilla Sokol was the murderer. But it wouldn't be solid enough for the wizarding law. Even if they matched, they still had a lot of work to do to actually prove to the Wizengamot that she was the culprit. He already made that mistake once with Rowe and wasn't going to repeat it.

“Draco...”

Draco jerked at the use of his first name. He bent his head closer to Potter's as they checked how the fingerprints overlapped against the light of a lamp post. They perfectly did.

They looked at each other excitedly. Potter was right, that _was_ fun.

They went back to the party, pretending they hadn't been gone for twenty minutes, and made a beeline for their friends. Ginny and Pansy were gone, replaced by Blaise and Longbottom.

“Ah, there they are! Where did you get off to?” Weasley asked when he saw them approaching.

Potter hitched a shoulder. “Outside.”

"That took you a long time, whatever you were doing 'outside'," Hermione observed. They all exchanged meaningful glances.

Draco blushed lightly. Of course all of Potter's friends knew he was bi, or gay, or whatever he was, and it was kind of suspicious that he would disappear in the middle of a party with another man.

Belatedly, Blaise gasped in sudden understanding, then put his hand on Draco's shoulder and winked at him. Draco brushed his hand away trying to ignore how everyone was thinking that he and Potter had been snogging behind bushes like teenagers or something. Honestly, it would have pissed him off even if that were true.

“Where's Pansy?” Draco asked, if only to distract everyone from those thoughts.

“I don't know, snogging with Ginny in some corner?” Blaise offered with a shrug.

“Hey!” Weasley snapped.

"What? I can't be the only one who noticed! It's obvious, right?" Blaise asked the group. Everyone nodded in unison.

Weasley threw his hands up in frustration, his ears almost as red as his hair.

 

 

All in all, it was a nice party. Sure, the presence of Potter's friends made it a little awkward, but not overwhelmingly so. Around nine-thirty, Headmistress McGonagall herself made a little speech, thanking everyone present and particularly the patrons who came forward with considerable donations. Then she mentioned Potter, how he helped with the organisation and publicity of the event, and with his own donation. She spotted him in the crowd and motioned him to come to the dais. Shaking his head, but smiling, Potter obliged.

"So, er. It shouldn't surprise anyone that I didn't prepare anything to say. I hoped I'd manage to nip off by this time."

He paused there, to let the titter die off.

“I assume, in some way, I could be seen as the Ultimate Less Fortunate Boy, considering my history. In reality, I felt rather lucky when I first crossed Hogwart's threshold... Well, I don't need to elaborate on that, you can just buy my biography if you're interested.”

More giggles rose from the crowd. Stupid as it might sound, Draco felt like Potter was only talking to him, the rest of the room forgotten.

“And that is why we needed this Fundraiser. To some kids, Hogwarts will be the only place they can call home. Because they don't have another, or because what's waiting for them after the finals is more like a prison. I know I wished to stay at Hogwarts during summer, some years more than others. Now, I'm making it sound like all your money will be spent in keeping the school open all year, but of course there are many types of less fortunate people. For example...”

He stopped suddenly, something in the room catching his attention.

 

 

Harry suddenly noticed Ludmilla's red head and Augustus' receding hairline moving towards the exit. He tried to communicate it to Malfoy using his eyebrows, though he clearly didn't have that talent, because Malfoy looked confusedly around.

“I thank you for your support and hope that you will be satisfied with the use of your funding,” he concluded hurriedly, jumping down from the dais and bumping into anyone on his path to Draco. He grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him after the suspects.

“What the hell, Potter?” Malfoy protested.

“They're getting away. I need you to put a Tracker spell on Ludmilla.”

They caught up with them just before they Disapparated outside.

"Please, tell me you managed to Track her before she went," Harry said, bent in half and out of breath, not really expecting a positive answer.

Malfoy shook his head, catching his breath. “No, I... I missed her.”

“Shit.”

“I did get _him_ , though.”

Five minutes later they were in his office at the Ministry, bent over a map of London while Malfoy's wand pulsated light more and more frequently as its tip neared the area Augustus was in.

“Pentonville Road?” Malfoy said tentatively.

Harry checked the list he’d snatched from the Ministry employees archive, not fully legally. “He lives in that area,” he said, showing Augustus' home address to Malfoy.

“So he went home.”

“The question is, is he with her? We need to know.”

“So what, we go peeping through his windows?”

Harry sighed disheartened, showing Malfoy a humourless smile.

“Retrieve one of the office invisibility cloaks, we might need to stake out his house.”

  


 

A quick and embarrassing look through the windows told them that Augustus and Ludmilla were being intimate in there, and not planning some kind of illegal activity. Unless that was their idea of dirty talk.

The flat was guarded by multiple protective charms, as expected from an Unspeakable: no Tracking spell was going to penetrate that barrier. That meant they really had to camp out there and wait for something to happen.

Harry, as he always did during stake-outs, regretted the fact that wizards still hadn't designed some sort of warm, mobile cubicle they could stay in during this kind of situations. A car, basically. He regretted that magical cars weren't a thing. They couldn't even perform Warming charms, being invisible and not wanting to attract any kind of attention from the occasional passer-by.

They were standing against a wall, trembling in their regular cloaks, desperately trying to hold onto the hem of the invisibility cloaks, lest they fly away in the night and leave them metaphorically naked.

They were both tired from the lack of sleep from the previous night and the intense day they had, and the silence and cold around them weren't doing them any favours.

By two in the morning, Harry could swear that if he didn't find something to keep him awake immediately, he would literally fall asleep standing. The coffee he Conjured for himself and Malfoy a couple of hours ago had been useless against his fatigue.

Conversation was a good contender as far as sleep repellents went, right? And he suspected Draco could use it, too, seeing how his head periodically fell on his chest.

“Hey, so... what happened with Astoria Greengrass? I thought you were engaged.”

 

 

Draco started at the unusually personal question. In all honesty he wasn't even sure he heard that right, since he was falling asleep on his feet right at that moment.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I'm just trying to keep us awake. You don't have to reply,” Potter said, shrugging apologetically.

There was a long silence, during which Draco tried possible answers in his head before he blurted out something he would regret.

“She was nice, but I... er, wasn't ready for marriage. My mother was the one who insisted on our engagement and well, once I made my argument, I convinced her it wouldn't work.”

Potter hummed thoughtfully.

“What about you and Ginny then?”

Potter laughed humourlessly. “You've seen her, she has other... interests. I wasn’t as exciting as Pansy, I suppose.”

Draco mimicked Potter's earlier humming. “What about you, though? You'd think someone like you would be all over gossip magazines as soon as he stood next to a woman, let alone date one.”

Potter laughed, this time genuinely amused. “True, that's why I've been avoiding doing so. Men, however... they don't raise as much suspicion.”

Okay, this was definitely a bait. The question was, did Draco dare to bite it?

“Ah, you too?”

Potter turned to him with a devilish grin.

“Oh my, Draco! We have more in common than I thought!”

Draco laughed, relieved. Potter laughed, too. He felt like a big weight had finally been removed from his chest. A comfortable silence followed.

“Are we on first name basis, now?” Draco asked after a while. For some reason, that was the most difficult thing he said all night.

Potter looked up at the sky, though there was nothing to see there. “I don't know about you, but I'm on first name basis with all of my friends.”

Then, unexpectedly, he turned to him and smiled, the most sincere and warm smile Draco ever remembered receiving. The words caught up in his throat.

“Whatever you say, Harry.”

 

 

They kept checking once in a while if she was still inside the house. She was.

Around five-thirty they saw her coming out of the building, clinging to her red woollen coat. She sure liked red. With trembling fingers, she grabbed a pack of smokes and lit one with the tip of her wand. Harry mentally noted the Statute of Secrecy infringement, in case they needed a excuse to drag her to the Ministry.

They both started, approaching her in silence, and Draco performed a Tracking spell as soon as she was in range. But she was going nowhere for the moment: once finished the first cigarette, she distractedly flicked the stub on the pavement and lit another one.

She was in the midst of smoking the fourth when she suddenly dropped it, staring intently into the distance in front of her. Draco and Harry followed her gaze and saw a faint glint.

“A Patronus?” Draco asked him as they watched her cross the street to reach it.

“No, a Patronus would come to her... Must be a ghost?” Harry replied, already following her.

As they got nearer, it became clearer that it was a ghost, but unlike any ghost Harry ever saw. It was as if chunks of its material fell off, making it very hard to understand that it used to be a human being and not an ancient statue broken by time. The voice was also very weird, as if it was speaking from inside a very deep well.

"Looks like this is the farther I can go," the ghost said.

Ludmilla wasn't impressed at all. “This is useless. _You_ are useless. I can’t use this,” she said flaring her nostrils.

“I'm sorry, Milla, this is...” The ghost's only visible eye widened in their direction without apparent reason. “I saw something! There's someone there!” he screamed, pointing exactly to their position.

Ludmilla turned in a flash, wand in hand, eyes mad. A segment of light erupted from the tip of her wand, whipping at them with a terrible snap. Harry's reaction time was a bit rusty, but Draco managed to shield them both with a Protego. Both their Invisibility Cloaks were forcibly removed by the wind the whip produced.

“Harry Potter! Can't believe I'm lucky enough to meet you twice!” she said, the whip made of light humming at her feet. She bent her arm back, preparing to strike again.

“Wait, wait! What are you doing? Do you realise you're attacking the Head of The Auror's Department?” he shouted at her.

She stopped with her arm in mid-air, slightly tilting her head to the side. “Attacking? I'm merely defending myself against two men who were stalking me in the dark.”

Harry opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal but found himself in the wrong this time. She was kind of right. Too late he noticed that, in the chaos, the weird ghost had silently disappeared. "You're right, we're sorry. We will put our wands down if you do the same," he said calmly, showing his palms in a non-threatening gesture.

Her sceptical expression gave way to a resigned one, then she sighed and lowered her wand. Harry and Draco did the same.

“We need to ask you a few questions, ma'am.”

“In the freezing cold, before six in the morning?”

“Not necessarily. Will you come by the Auror's office at, let's say, nine?”

They only trusted her to show up because she still had the Tracking charm on her, and also because they notified the Department of Magical Transportation not to let her leave the country.

“Hey, before we go back to the Ministry...” Draco started.

Harry looked at him, hoping he was suggesting they go take a quick nap because honestly, he would love to.

“...can we stop by Douglas' flat?” he finished.

“Why? You think we missed something?” Harry asked, disappointed.

“I... It's just a hunch, but I'd like to be sure.” he mysteriously replied.

Harry guessed he deserved it, being the one who always kept things hidden, and though he could force him to explain, being his boss and all, he didn't.

 

 

This time they behaved like respectable people and knocked on the door. Mrs Douglas’ head appeared through the door.

“Ah, it's you! What do you want now?” she croaked. She sounded vexed.

"Mrs Douglas!" Draco said, beaming at her. "May we have a quick word?"

“If you must... Be swift, I have a lot of cleaning to do,” she replied after a moment.

Draco and Harry exchanged glances.

“Er... Can we come in?” Harry gingerly asked.

“No, you can't. If I let you come you will leave mud prints everywhere, and I’ll have to offer you something to drink, and then I’ll have to clean the glasses!” she said, irritated.

“Is your son back, Mrs Douglas?” Draco asked.

Her luminous features elongated in surprise long enough for them to notice. Or at least, Draco noticed, because Harry's expression was exactly the same.

“I... He... He went out and came back all wrong...” she sobbed, opening the door for them.

“Mum, why did you let them in? I told you no one was supposed to know!” a quivering and echoic voice whined from behind her. Standing in the living room was the Swiss-cheese ghost they saw earlier with Ludmilla.

Draco half-saw Harry putting on a magical barrier to prevent Douglas from leaving, but most of his attention was on the victim of the murder, now trying to pass through the living room's window. His movements were fragmented and hiccup-like, as if Draco’s eyes failed to catch some parts of the movement, not to mention the missing chunks of substance that would make him look like a human ghost. He received a little shock when he tried to leave and screamed as if it hurts. Draco wasn't sure if ghosts could feel physical pain. They shouldn't be able to.

When Douglas figured out there was nowhere to go, he sighed and turned to them.

“You got me. Congratulations. But, as you can see, I'm a ghost, so unless there is some ghost prison that I don't know about...”

“Oh, you won't be dealing with us. I'm sure the Spirit division will know what to do in this situation,” Harry said.

“What happened to you?” Draco asked.

Douglas didn't seem in the mood to be cooperative.

Draco rolled up his sleeves, assuming a no non-sense attitude. “Listen, you're broken, the Spirit Division can help you. We can put in a good word for you if you prove to be helpful.”

Mrs Douglas called his name warningly, putting her hands on her hips. Marvin seemed to become smaller immediately.

“It was Milla. She killed me,” he admitted, then promptly shut himself.

“We know that. We want the whole story.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, rolling his only eye.

 

 

“We'd already worked together once, so she knew I was good at Transfiguring stuff. She told me there was a lot of money to be made in the Bulgarian black market with English-made wands, so we tried to come up with a plan to steal a lot of them, and we knew wand makers have pretty good security in their shops. I worked at the library, and my aunt wouldn't let me do business in there anymore, thanks to that little pest. So we had to meet in my flat. My mother, who recently died, was haunting the place, and she wouldn't approve of my activity, so I told her Milla was my... er, lady friend, and to give us privacy when she visited. I didn't want her to see Milla, so I would send her away before she arrived. However, mum once came back before Milla was gone and saw her, and we couldn't understand how my Protective charms didn't stop her. Then it hit us: unless they're specifically against ghosts, most spells don't detect them. That opened a whole new world of possibilities we wanted to explore. But instead of asking someone who was already dead, she convinced _me_ to die. I think she slipped me some Amortentia... now that I’m dead it does seems a pretty silly plan. She was the one who came up with the plan, to steal a wand and kill me with it to mislead the investigation. With a bit of training, ghosts can pick up things just like humans, not to mention the going-through-walls thing and being undetectable. I would become the perfect thief. There was something we didn't think about, though. Ghosts haunt the places where they died and usually don't leave them. That's because if they get too far... they start falling apart. So the plan is ruined, and now I've died for nothing and she's probably halfway to Bulgaria.”

The confession was very long and fragmented, so Draco wrote it down word for word, resigned to rewrite it completely once back to the office. Harry contacted the Spirit Division with his Patronus and patted Draco's back as they left the flat.

“Very good job, Draco. I'm really, truly impressed. You have very good instincts.”

“Hey, take it easy with the compliments. You don't want me overconfident, do you?”

Harry laughed, amused. “As if you needed my help with that.”

Draco grinned.

“Are you disappointed that you didn't get the chance to die for me this time?” Harry asked half-jokingly as they walked down the corridor to the exit.

“Ha, we're not finished yet. We still have to arrest Ludmilla,” Draco replied.

“No way, we're leaving her to the Hit Wizards. We pay them a little visit now and you help them track her, then our job is done.”

Draco stopped in his tracks and Harry did the same, looking at each other defiantly until Draco gave up. Harry was the boss, after all.

“Fine. I'm going to have other chances anyway,” Draco said matter-of-factly, resuming the walk.

“How do you know? Maybe this was my last field job.”

As Draco surpassed him, Harry took a glimpse of the smile on his face.

“Somehow I know that's not true.”

 

 

_A month after the arrest of Ludmilla Sokol_

 

And of course Draco was right. Since that case the idea of resigning from Head of the Department became each day more attractive to Harry. What once seemed like a silly idea was now a very likely possibility in his head. He had to talk about it with someone he trusted, see if he was going mental or if it could be a legitimate course of action.

“No, of course we understand! Right, Ron?”

Ron grunted in reply. In his defence, it sounded like a very supportive grunt.

“I became an Auror to help people, to make a difference... I know I can be more helpful on the field, working cases...” Harry gesticulated.

“We _know_ , Harry.”

She put her hand on his, smiling encouragingly. Hermione sounded way more talkative than Ron that night, and while that had always been true, it was never this obvious.

“What do you think, Ron? We could go back to working cases together!”

Ron sat in silence, and almost yelped when Hermione elbowed him.

“Er... Yeah. The thing is... I'm resigning too,” he stammered out, avoiding his eyes.

Harry gawped at him. “What?”

“Yeah, you know... I've been talking with George lately and I pitched him some of my ideas, and he liked them! He offered me a job and honestly... no offence, I love being an Auror and helping people and stuff... But also, I have a little girl and, er, another one on the way... you understand, don't you?”

His tone was pretty much begging at the end. Harry choked back a gasp, looking from Hermione to Ron and back. After a moment he figured out no words could express what he wanted to say, so he just got up and hugged them both, eyes watering and unable to stop smiling.

 

 

“You're going to love my first product, mate,” Ron chuckled. They were sitting in front of the fire after dinner, Hermione peacefully knitting a blanket for the new baby beside them. It was orange and red, the colours ever-changing.

“Let's hear it.”

“You know when you're on stake-out on those horrible freezing nights, and you can't as much as blow on your hands to warm them up?”

“Don't tell me...”

“We've got just the thing for you! I call it Invisibility Tent, to be renamed, George thinks it's not catchy enough. It's basically... I mean, I'm sure you can figure it out yourself.”

Harry beamed at him. “Man, _now_ I'm really glad you're going. I don't know how you managed to convince George with that shitty pitch, though.”

Ron lightly punched him on the shoulder. After their laughter died down, his expression gradually became more worried.

“Seriously, though. You have to think about how you're going to step down. The papers will have a field day with that, you know it.”

Harry briefly considered this.

“Well, it's a good thing I know someone who loves to write about gossip. Giving the exclusive to someone will ensure that the first time anyone hears about it, it will be my words.”

“Yeah, but... you're not talking about Rita, are you?” Hermione intervened, an incredulous crease forming between her eyebrows.

Harry laughed. “No way. I'm talking about Pansy Parkinson. Sure, we're not very close, but she's a friend of Draco, and Draco...”

“Draco is a friend of yours,” Hermione and Ron concluded in unison, rolling their eyes in perfect synchrony.

 

  


 


	3. Magic Soaking My Spine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend in need and old nightmares

Harry unfolded the piece of parchment for the fourth time in ten minutes, re-reading its brief contents.

_Hog's Head Pub, 10 PM. Come alone, don't let anyone see you. Ask for Landon._

He could recognise Draco's handwriting anywhere, after analysing his notes on the Dunbar case. When was that, six, seven months ago?

Things had changed since then. Harry was back to being a regular Auror, a news story that caused a lot of shock in the hearts of the wizarding community. The important thing, though, was that he was finally happy again. Well, not happy, but at least content with the current state of things. Regarding his work, that is. He had been working a lot more than he used to when he was Head of Department, trying desperately to distract himself from his newfound obsession with Draco Malfoy, which was pretty difficult considering they spent most of their working hours together. And lunch breaks. Sometimes dinner, and a couple times they had breakfast together as well.

Being with Draco felt like going down the stairs in Grimmauld Place half-asleep at six in the morning and missing the last step, every time. Harry could tell the attraction was real, and mutual, but neither of them wanted to acknowledge it, in fear of the other’s reaction, whether good or bad; they didn’t want to trample the fragile thing blooming between them. Harry could honestly say he enjoyed Draco’s company and admired him as an Auror, something he would have thought impossible only a year ago.

He realised it was a mean thought, but he was glad Ron wasn't at the office to see this unfold. He would tease Harry endlessly and probably make gagging noises every time he saw them enjoying each other’s company. Also, Ron seemed to be really happy working with George: the Super Comfy Invisi-tent was far from perfect but the project had resonated positively with all the Auror employees and had received a good funding from the MLE Department, which also requested a set of new gadgets designed to make their job a bit more bearable. He'd rather have his best friend far away from him, working for a good cause and not making fun of him.

He still saw him, Hermione and Rose on their weekly Family Dinner Time, to which Draco was still not invited despite Harry’s requests. He understood: Draco was basically a stranger, not to say a former enemy, to that group, especially considering even Neville, Luna and Ginny seldom participated. Although it wasn't easy organising their schedules and the trip from Ireland, Dean and Seamus had come a couple of times over the years. The thing was, they were all Gryffindors, and a Ravenclaw. It was like an unspoken rule that Slytherins were not welcome at the table. He knew Neville was neighbourly with Blaise, and Ginny was _definitely_ more than friendly with Pansy. If he could convince them to help him in his crusade... He knew they would never ask of their own accord,  but if Harry was the one who proposed it, they would certainly support him.

Hogsmeade greeted him quietly when he Apparated, looking exactly as he remembered it from the happiest Hogwarts trips before the war. No more scared faces of the locals, no more wanted posters staring at him. He could have Apparated in front of the pub, but it was a few minutes to ten, and Harry wanted to take a walk in the coolness of the evening.

He was curious about what Draco could want from him at the Hog’s Head after dark, requesting that he disguised himself. He immediately shook off the first thing that came to mind, that he wanted to have a romantic or, possibly, sexual encounter and wanted no one to know about it. For one, there were way better places than the Hog's Head for that purpose; second, Draco was not the type to organise such meeting. In the previous months Harry had investigated on Draco's romantic life, making use of his natural charm and the fact that everyone seemed to love telling him about their private business (except for Draco himself, that is): apparently, everyone who flirted with him was either mercilessly rejected or gently let down, and when he asked them if Draco ever dated anyone outside the MLE offices, the only answer was Astoria Greengrass, which, Harry knew, was as good as no one. By observing Draco’s behaviour Harry had come to the conclusion, however unbelievable, that if he was indeed interested in someone, that someone would have to be Harry.

The other Aurors were amazed at how they fit together almost seamlessly on the field, especially those who had had to work with Draco in the past: he was notorious for being annoyingly confident (although rightly so) and respectful of the rules to a fault. Having his support on a mission was both a blessing and a curse, and some of them would rather work with someone less qualified than have to endure the aura of superiority he exuded. Harry, on his part, saw it as a quirk to occasionally make fun of and thought there was nothing wrong in taking pride in what one was good at.

Draco, after his initial shock at Harry’s easygoing attitude towards someone he used to hate a decade ago, started showing a side Harry was sure only Pansy and Blaise were used to see. Always ready to offer his help when he was proficient in the matter at hand, always accommodating to his colleague’s schedule, complaining a lot even when bitching was more exhausting than shutting up and doing what he was asked to. And he always did it perfectly. But it wasn’t just how well they worked together.

In different situations he caught Draco staring at his lips while he spoke, and asking him to repeat the words when Harry expected an answer. His eyes would get dark, and Harry would feel a hungry creature deep in his stomach that urged him to grab Draco’s collar and pull him in for a kiss. Harry never fed the creature, not even with hope, and it lay in wait till the next occasion.

When hit by one of his insomnia spells, Harry would go back to analyse his past with Draco and realised that if one of them had been a girl, everyone would suspect something was up with their “rivalry” and their dynamic based on petty jealousy. The fact that they were both men gave them this weird benefit of the doubt: people of the same sex were expected to be either friends or enemies; nothing more, nothing less. In light of their more recent relationship, young Draco’s motivations started to have a different meaning, changing the shape of so many Hogwarts memories. There was no way to know for sure, but Harry suspected Draco had been attracted to him for a long time, and if he wasn’t completely aware of it, his brain kept feeding him reasons to be close to Harry, like the two life debts he claimed he owed to Harry. Having already had to deal with similar situations with Peter Pettigrew and Snape, Harry knew how it actually worked: the person indebted to him never actively followed him around, ready to become a human shield in a deadly situation; they would simply help him out if they happened to be able to.

On his part, Harry wasn't even aware he could be attracted to a man until he and Ginny split up and he met Teddy, his first and only boyfriend. He was a Muggle, his sister a witch, so Harry didn't have to hide magic from him. He was a good man, but the relationship burned out quickly, their lives too different. Once Harry realised he was allowed to like blokes, he kept thinking how all the signs had been there since he was a kid: feeling “admiration” for Oliver Wood, wanting desperately to help Cedric and be recognised as his peer, envying Lupin and Sirius' relationship (which only then realised was definitely more than best friends) and, last but not least, the confusing mixed cauldron of feelings he ever had for Draco Malfoy.

Bloody Malfoy. He always thought of him as a heartless prick, but sixth year shattered all the opinions he had about him and finally he could see him as an actual human being, with fears and hopes and affections. That's why the following year he saved him from the Fiendfyre and vouched for him at his trial. He saw someone that could be rehabilitated, and he was right. Harry was amazed by the good that was buried deep down inside of him, and proud that it was coming out slowly. Turns out, Draco was not only handsome and resourceful, but also shrewd and good under pressure, if only a bit too eager to jump into danger.

By now, although Harry could never admit it openly to his friends, he adored Draco, and was dreading the moment he would leave his side. He knew he would. No matter what kind of relationship they had slowly cultivated in the last months, Draco loved his rules, and swore that once his debt had been paid, he would get out of Harry’s life for good, even if it meant destroying everything they had built in the process. Harry cared too much about him to put him in front of a choice, so he did what Draco was doing, getting along and pretending there wasn't more to it than a friendly work relationship.

The pub came into view, focusing Harry’s thoughts on the present. The reason for the secret meeting had to be related to a personal problem that needed solving quietly, that was the conclusion Harry came to as he pushed the inn's door open and the stuffy, heavy air blew unpleasantly on his face, which was, at this moment, not his face at all. If it were winter, he could have gotten away simply by covering it, but being late May he couldn't even think about putting on a cloak or one of Hermione's scarves. In fact, he had been using the summer Auror uniform since the end of April. His disguise was simply a Face Randomising Transfiguration, very popular in that particular pub. A couple of heads turned when he entered (those too Randomised, he suspected), then quickly went back to their shady business.

Harry walked briskly to the counter, trying not to think about how he was an Auror in a place full of petty criminals, like a sheep in a wolf pack den. Aberforth gave no sign of recognising him, just grunted questioningly at him. Harry briefly considered making himself known to him, but decided against it as the words 'don't let anyone see you' danced in front of his eyes.

“I'm looking for Landon,” he said, lowering his voice as much as he could.

Aberforth barely looked at him, turned away, grabbed a key from a dirty metal box and slid it across the counter to him, then jerked his head towards a broken door behind Harry and went back to his business with another grunt.

“Thanks,” Harry stammered out before walking the short distance and opening the door. As everything inside that place, the handle was covered in a greasy layer.

Once he was standing in front of the room 23, he made sure no one was around and transfigured his face back to normal, then gently knocked. He didn't want to barge in and risk getting hit by a curse.

“Who's there?,” Draco asked.

“It's me, H- er, your partner? I have a key,” Harry replied.

“All right. Come in.”

Draco was standing nervously in the middle of the room, which contained nothing except for a busted-up bed and a sorry excuse for a dresser.

“Hey, so... what's going on?” Harry asked after closing the door, since Draco didn't offer any explanation.

“I have... a situation. I need you to keep an open mind and not jump to conclusions here,” Draco answered after a slight delay.

“Okay...?”

“Come out here,” Draco said turning to the bathroom door. It opened with a squeak a second later, and Pansy Parkinson came into the room with an unsteady step.

Harry looked questioningly from one to the other.

“Hey there, Potter. Er. I might be in big trouble,” she said with a dry smile.

 

 

Draco would have loved to sit down for this conversation, but the Hog's Head rooms were not cosy like the Leaky Cauldron's, so they would have to make do. He guided Pansy to the bed and made her sit down, and hoped she remembered how to tell the story in a way that it made sense, unlike the first time she told him. After a minute of consideration, he sat down next to her, and put an arm around her shoulders to give her some emotional support.

“I... I received a visit last night, I can't tell you their names. I let them in and we sat down to catch up. We talked about irrelevant things for a bit, then they started... slipping in weird words into the conversation. Not weird, let's say... forgotten or unknown to me. I felt something was wrong and said I had an early morning today, that we could meet and catch up another day. They stood up, and one of them shook my hand, and while I was distracted, the other... the other person cast a spell on me. And... well, it forced me to promise things, illegal things. Another spell was cast, _while_ our hands were locked... I mean, you get it right...?” she asked hopefully as she trembled under Draco's arm.

Harry nodded pensively. “I think I do. More or less. I'm guessing that pressing you further could get you in trouble, right?”

She nodded and said nothing, looking at her folded hands.

Harry looked at Draco for a handful of seconds, or a couple of minutes. He could almost hear that brilliant little brain working, probably coming to the same conclusions Draco’s had. He motioned for Draco to follow and moved to the corner of the room farthest from the bed.

“So,” Harry whispered. Draco moved slightly closer. “I'm guessing they Imperioused her and forced her to make an Unbreakable Vow, right?”

Draco nodded. “That's what I think. I already checked, she's not under the curse anymore.”

“They must've made her swear not to say anything about their identity and the vow... but why not include the whole meeting?”

“I don't know. Maybe they're just sloppy. Or daft. I feel like they also Obliviated her, but I'm not sure.”

“What can we do? They used an Unforgivable Curse, they’re already criminals... but we don't know what's the _other_ crime she promised to do. I wish we could at least examine her memories...” Harry kept sneaking glances at Pansy's back, with something in his eyes that looked like concern.

“She can't officially press charges, the vow could kill her. That's why I asked you to meet us here in secrecy.”

“You did well.” Harry took off his glasses, cleaned them with the hem of his shirt and put them back on. “Do you think she can tell us some of those words they used?”

Draco shrugged. They went back to Pansy, this time Draco took her hand as he repeated Harry’s question.

“I think so, they never told me not to repeat them. But I can't really remember any of them, except for... cerebrum, I think?” she replied somewhat hesitant. Draco patted her back awkwardly, and she smiled at him. She looked way more steady than last night when she first Flooed him, alarmed by what just happened. Draco guessed that having her friend's support was good, but talking to someone like Harry Potter would be a salve for someone scared out of their mind.

“I'll see what I can find out, but it's tough... it's not like I have a lot of clues,” Harry whispered to him while Pansy put on her disguise.

“Are you going back to the office?” Draco asked.

“Yes, I'm going to check if someone she knows has a record.”

“Okay. I'll take her home and meet you there.”

 

 

Draco left Pansy's house only when Ginny arrived and he was sure she wouldn't be alone. Driven by concern for his best friend, he managed to hold eye contact with Ginny and explain the situation without making it too awkward. She and Pansy had been seriously dating for about five months and he still couldn't look at her without remembering sixth year and the jealousy and nausea he felt then. Luckily, Pansy didn't insist for all of them to go out together; “I'm waiting until we can double date with Potter, too,” she had said with a wink. Hah, as if it would ever happen.

Right now, he was really grateful for Ginny, though: if Pansy had been single, or dating someone he didn't trust, he would have never left her to go investigate.

As always at this late hour, the Ministry's corridors were mostly deserted, except for the night-workers and a few MLE employees. He found Harry bent over his desk, one desk behind Draco's. Though it had been three months since he came back, it was still weird seeing his stuff in the common office; he always looked out of place there. Luckily Harry's desk wasn't in a position that could easily distract Draco, or he would have a hard time focusing on his work.

"Hey. Come here, I need your help," Harry greeted without raising his eyes from a Hogwarts student registry. Draco saw that he was checking a list of Slytherin students, marking his spot with his left index finger as he turned to write down a name on a piece of parchment. Draco recognised some of his friends' names from the same year. He said nothing, knowing that it was a suspects list.

“Can you tell me who Pansy was friends with, other than Slytherins from our year?” Harry asked.

“Just because they 'sat down to catch up' it doesn't mean they were _friends_ ,” Draco mumbled.

“Fine then, do you want to tell me the names of everyone she ever spoke with?”

Draco sighed and leaned forward to look at the registry, then started to point at the names of people they were friendly with. In those days, they used to do everything together. Except for Draco's mission in sixth year, that is.

First they removed people who were currently in Azkaban or dead, then they split the list in two halves of nineteen people each and started cross-checking with criminal records. Embarrassingly enough, Draco found out that more than half of them had committed a crime after the war. So much for 'don't judge a book by its cover'.

At two in the morning they were left with sixteen suspects.

“You know this could -and probably will- lead us nowhere, right?” Draco asked, barely holding a yawn in. “It could be someone who's never committed a crime before, or someone who's not a Slytherin, or... for all we know it could be someone from Durmstrang. What the hell, we were tight with a couple of them, I even-” Draco stopped abruptly.

“You even what?” Harry asked distractedly while he leafed through reports.

“Nothing. What I'm trying to say is that you're focusing on Slytherins too much. That's biased of you,” Draco said, looking for something to occupy his hands with.

“I'm not. It's just safe to start there since we have no leads. If Pansy was, I don't know, a Ravenclaw, I would have done the same. Except, you know, maybe they would have friends in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, too.”

“Yeah yeah, I get your point, we Slytherins like to 'keep it in the family'. That's funny. So, are we done for today?”

Harry clearly held back from commenting on the joke and instead just said, “Yes. I'll mail  out a couple of letters before leaving though, so that we can move on tomorrow morning.”

Draco picked up his things and stood there for a moment, considering Harry as he wrote down a couple of lines, unaware of his gaze.

“One of the Durmstrang students asked me to the Yule Ball,” Draco blurted out before he could change his mind. He felt Harry's eyes moving to meet his, but he was already staring at a point over his shoulder by then. There was a memo that kept slamming into a lantern's glass on a desk behind Harry, like a very dumb fly. They received defective memos sometimes.

“Why did you say no?” Harry asked.

“I didn't know. I didn't know I could say yes and I didn't know I would've liked that,” Draco replied, feeling more stupid by the minute. Why did he even say that? He was right earlier when he decided to shut up about it. Now he just said something very personal for no reason at all. He never told anyone about it.

“Heh. Yeah, I feel you. I forced myself to invite a girl I felt nothing towards and she had a lame night because I felt uncomfortable. To be honest, I would've gone with Ron if he'd been up for it.”

Draco's eyes quickly shifted to Harry's face. _What?_

“I-I mean as friends! I never felt that way towards him,” he hurried to explain. There was a long, awkward silence.

“Yeah,” Draco said finally, “except I think Rita Skeeter would've had a field day with that, and everyone would've known that you're into men. You would've known no peace.”

Harry laughed lowly. “Yeah, you're right.”

“Well, I'm going. See you tomorrow,” Draco said as he left.

Five minutes later he was at home, and his heart was still racing from the conversation he just had. He lit the way to his room with Lumos, to avoid waking his mother. Her sleep had been very light since the war.

They hadn't talked about their sexuality since the stake-out. It was always in the back of his mind, every time he looked into Harry's eyes he was reminded that there was a possibility, however insignificant, that Harry might fancy him. And yes, he sometimes said things that _could_ be interpreted as flirting, and he always smiled at him and was helpful, and that one time when he defended him against one of his arsehole co-workers and... aw _shit_. There he was again, deluding himself. Somehow, this miserable scene repeated itself only when it was dark and he was tired, and reality was just an opinion.

He fell on his bed with a sigh, not even bothering to change or get under the blankets.

The day when he left that damn job couldn't come too soon.

 

 

Something bothered Harry. Well, a lot of things did, but right this moment, as he read for the fourth time the same line of his report on the arrest of a con-wizard, one particular thing bothered him. The only leads they had on the Pansy case (he kept calling it 'case' in his mind, though it was more of a pet project) were that she knew the assailants and the word 'cerebrum'. If he remembered correctly from his school days, it simply meant 'brain' in Latin.

The night before or, rather, that early morning, he wrote a letter to Gregorius Olsen, the current librarian at Hogwarts, inquiring about the word, asking if it was part of a spell or in the name of some magical object. He found the reply waiting for him on his desk that morning, which he read fighting against the weight of his sleepy eyelids. Mr Olsen said he was sorry, but the only thing that came to mind was the Cerebrumous Spattergroit, a particular type of fungus that caused confusion and memory loss. However, because of a nasty accident occurred in 2002, the Uprooting Section of the Department for the Examination and Control of Magical Flora had worked three years to eradicate completely the species from England. Harry vaguely remembered the pamphlet instructing the wizarding community on how to recognise the fungus and isolate it to prevent the spores from spreading until the arrival of the Ministry employees. So he had a new theory: the criminals were looking for this rare fungus to use it for evil or selling it to someone. It sounded a bit forced, even to him.

The other letter he wrote to Hermione, and there still was no answer at ten-twenty AM. He had no idea what kind of working hours she was on, her shifts changed as often as her role did, down in the Department of Mysteries. Harry shivered as the memory of the Death Room hit him like a brick on the teeth. He didn't like thinking about it. It always brought a particular dark feeling that he was deeply uncomfortable with.

He trusted and respected all the consultants that collaborated with the various departments of MLE, and he heavily relied on them when he was in a pinch. But when all else failed, there was Hermione. She was like the ultimate knowledge guru, and she really knew _everything_ . Unfortunately, she had an actual job and could not be contacted at all times. Moreover, Harry knew she already had little time for her family, so he tried to call her only when it was a matter of life or death. This time though, he had no choice. Pansy could not press charges because of the vagueness of her testimony, so all of this was unofficial, and unofficial meant that he could not ask the consultants. Well, he _could_ , because he was Harry Potter and just about everybody loved him and wanted his favour. But, it wasn't safe to go spreading information around, at least not until he knew more. Thus, he had to rely on Hermione and her encyclopedic knowledge. Plus, it's not like he was asking her to help him design a way that would allow Aurors to relocate the Invisi-tent if they had to get out of it and then forgot where they parked it (yes, it was a real thing that Ron asked her during their latest Family Dinner Time). He only needed the definition of a word. It wouldn't take more than five minutes to write back, right?

At that moment, a grey owl landed on his desk, throwing on the ground the report he was proofreading. It raised its left leg and impatiently waited for him to collect the letter, promptly flying away after he did.

 _It could be a part of a name,_ Hermione's neat handwriting said, _Carebrumous Spattergroit, which is a fungus now eradicated from England. I'm sure you can manage to research it on your own. It also could be another thing, but I can't talk about it in a letter. If you need to know, send me a reply within an hour and we can meet for lunch to talk about it._

_Hermione_

Yes! Harry knew Hermione would know something not even a centenary librarian knew. He was sure she had the key to success. If only she had chosen to be an Auror like he and Ron did...

He excitedly looked up to share the news with Draco and was greeted by the usual view he grew accustomed to in the last few months: an empty desk that stood between them, and there it was, the nape of Draco's neck, the hair always tidy and perfect. He was bent over his desk, extremely focused on whatever he was doing. Harry didn't know if he was currently on a case. He was probably consulting for the Hit Wizards. He might be an Auror now, but he was still one of the best Investigators around, and was occasionally requested if he wasn't busy with another case. Harry still had a hard time believing that this man he was working with, a friend of his, was _that_ Draco Malfoy. He was _so_... ugh. Not the time.

Harry grabbed a blank memo that hopelessly tried to escape, stretched it out and wrote his message. He then let it go, observing as it folded itself back into a tiny paper plane and automatically flew to Draco, landing perfectly in front of him.

He was glad it wasn't one of the defective ones.

 

 

_Lunch with Hermione at 12. She may have a lead._

Draco turned to meet Harry's excited smile and returned it, then he reluctantly Vanished the memo. He wished he could pocket it and bring it home. In the past few months they had been exchanging a lot of them, unconcerned about the curious stares from their colleagues. They were just jealous that Harry Potter had a better relationship with his former rival than with any of those people he had been working with for years.

Although that _was_ a bit strange.

There was still one hour and a half until twelve and Draco spent it all worrying. It wasn't the first time he interacted with Granger -Hermione, he corrected himself- since the war. Hell, he'd spent that Fundraising with all of Harry's friends and didn't feel all that uncomfortable. But that time Blaise (and Pansy, occasionally) were there, and there were other people, too. Now it was just him, Harry and her. Not many people to shift his attention to if he felt a sudden pang of guilt for how he behaved with her in the past. And yet, she only had had kind words and sweet smiles for him. Weasley was different. Yes, Draco still called him Weasley, because Weasley still referred to him as Malfoy and didn't want him in his house lest he 'corrupt his daughter’, the git.

Draco was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn't make much progress in his work after he read the memo, and almost jumped when Harry tapped his shoulder to tell him it was lunchtime.

They met inside the Ministry’s Premium Lunch Lounge which was, _technically_ , by reservation only, but everyone turned a blind eye for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. In their defence, they didn't take advantage of this very often: if Hermione had to share confidential info, it was best they met in a private place, and it couldn't get more private than the Premium  Lunch Lounge. The six booths were equipped with a set of spells to protect the privacy of the clients; there was no personnel in the room and no real windows, only fake magical ones. The meal was not menu-based: the clients could order just about anything they wanted and it would magically appear in their plate, just like at Hogwarts during special occasions.

Hermione was waiting for them, already sitting at one of the booths. As soon as she saw them she smiled tiredly but fondly, and stood up to hug Harry once they were at arm's length. After a brief pause, she warmly shook Draco's hand.

“Hermione, you look terrible!” Harry observed as the three of them sat down.

She rolled her eyes theatrically. “I haven't slept in twenty-six hours. You don't look so good yourself. Both of you, actually,” she added observing them suspiciously.

Draco felt a wave of heat creeping up from his collar.

Harry performed a Muffliato charm around them. “You can never be too careful,” he shrugged.

“Okay, I only have thirty minutes, I promised Rose I would be back before dinner,” Hermione said, “Let's order first, then we talk.”

Each of them ordered something different. Draco settled for a simple plate of lasagna, which he figured had to be very good in a place like this. He wasn't disappointed.

“So, I guess the mushroom didn't cut it for you, did it,” Hermione started again after swallowing a mouthful of roasted potatoes.

Draco quizzically raised an eyebrow but asked no questions about it.

“The thing is, what I'm about to tell you is something you already know, you just didn't think about it, so... not all that secret.”

“Come on Hermione, spit it out,” Harry pressed.

“It's the Brain Room in the Department of Mysteries. It's actually Cereb _room_ , it's a play on words, I like it so much more than Brain Room, that is just boring. Did you know that, until 1956-”

As soon as she said 'Brain Room', Harry loudly smacked himself on the forehead, hitting his eyeglasses and moving them askew. “Of course!” he exclaimed, ignoring Hermione's torrent of words.

“Is there some new project being worked on in there?” Draco asked.

Hermione looked him straight in the eyes for a few seconds, and resisting the urge to lower his eyes was just about the hardest thing Draco had had to do in the last few months.

“I'd love to tell you, but... I can't if you don't have an official mandate. Besides, that room gives me the creeps, it brings back... unpleasant memories, I asked to be excluded from brain duty a few years back. Even if I could tell you, I wouldn't know,” she said with sincere regret.

“Listen, Hermione,” Draco said, gathering all of his courage, “Pansy has been threatened, Imperioused, forced to make an Unbreakable Vow, and probably Obliviated, too. All this over something that we can't figure out if you don't help us. Look at us. It could take us months to solve this without you. I know it's kind of rude of me to ask for this after... well, after everything that I made you go through, but Pansy is my dearest friend and I love her and I don't know what I'd do if something happened to her. Please,” he concluded breathlessly. He was burning up, his hands were clutching at the sides of the chair and he had to close his eyes to find the courage to finish his plea, but he made it to the end. He took a deep breath and finally looked at Hermione, who was staring at him open-mouthed.

“Wow. Er.. you had me at 'threatened', mate,” she managed to say. “Anything I can tell you is old news anyway, so I doubt the Head Unspeakable would be too mad about it. Oh, well, unless the thing you need to know is _that_ thing...” she trailed off.

“Hermione, _please_ ,” Harry begged.

“Well, I suppose since you're the reason we even...” Harry made another impatient noise. “Oh, fine, Voldemort's brain is in there.”

Draco gawped at her. He figured Harry did the same.

“What? Did you think they were going to destroy it? I mean, I'm not trying to justify anything, but he was a great wizard, however evil and terrible and-and-and repugnant and... it _needed_ to be studied!”

Her voice had grown more and more acute by the end, and her eyes were misty with guilt, though she couldn't have been responsible for it in any way.

“Are you telling me... that all these years, a piece of him has been a few levels under my feet? That I was sleeping soundly thinking this was all over while your Department was sticking needles in his brain?!”

Hermione had no answer for that. A terribly uncomfortable silence fell on the booth.

“I'm sorry, Harry, this is how knowledge works: it has to be pursued. It's not like we're letting just _anybody_ near it. And anyway, you really don't have to worry, because there has been literally zero progress in the eleven years it has been studied. That thing is an impenetrable fortress.”

Harry still looked very upset, but he probably didn't want to take it out on Hermione. They finished their meal in silence, then Hermione excused herself and left, throwing them a last guilty look over her shoulder.

Draco physically felt rage emanating from Harry and wished he knew what to do. He felt terribly out of place. In a moment like this, Harry should've had his friends by his side to calm him down, to comfort him, to... then it hit him. _He_ was his friend. He could do that.

Harry's hand was _right. there._

 

 

Harry was startled by a gentle touch on his arm. Draco, sitting beside him, wore a concerned look on his face and was trying to say something to him.

“I can't imagine what...” he started, then shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

Harry was tightening his jaw so hard that he feared he would do some kind of permanent damage to his teeth. How could people be so bloody stupid? Why did they keep making the same mistakes over and over again?

He jerked his arm out of Draco's grip more rudely than he intended.

“It's fine. I was an idiot for not thinking they would try to do something like this,” he grunted. Right now he was just pissed off: at the Ministry for allowing such research, at Hermione for not doing anything to stop it, even at Ron, for not being there to be outraged by his side, and bloody Draco, too, for sitting there uselessly and not making up his mind about anything ever.

He stood up and started stomping to the office without saying another word, and was vaguely aware of Draco following a couple of steps behind all the way back to his desk. It was not often that he used his name to gain what he wanted but this one definitely called for a few favours to be cashed in. He was going to put a stop to this madness if he had to beg Shacklebolt on his knees. Or fight him in a duel. Whichever would give the best result.

He begrudgingly worked on reports for a half an hour, then gave up completely and, leaving everything as it was on his desk, collected his essentials and walked out of the office. He needed some air.

It was so warm outside that he soon stripped down to his shirt, carefully hiding the wand holster from Muggle eyes. Even as upset as he was with his government, the Statute of Secrecy was to be respected. He wandered aimlessly for about an hour, almost expecting someone from the office to come and drag him back to work, possibly Draco. No one came in the end.

He managed to calm himself a bit. After the heat of the moment had faded, he realised he couldn't ask for the project to be shut down, lest Hermione lose her job. They were called 'Unspeakables' for a reason. And they had to go through many tests and training to enter the Department of Mysteries, so they had to be trustworthy. After all, the project had been active for eleven years, and he didn't know anything about it. He was just overreacting because it was Voldemort's brain. Had it been Salazar Slytherin's, he would have had nothing against it.

Also, how would Pansy's assailants know about it? It was way more likely that they were after the mushroom.

He came back to the office, determined to clear his mind and finish those damn reports. He would think about all of this after office hours. Draco, half-turned to the entrance in his chair, shot him a worried look. Harry tried to smile to show he was feeling better, but the reaction he received didn't look reassured at all.

He had a harder time than he thought focusing on the reports, so that they took the entire afternoon to complete. He was considering staying a couple extra hours to make up for the one he lost earlier, when he felt someone awkwardly looming on his desk.

Draco looked deeply uncomfortable as he tried to consider Harry's mood.

“Hey,” Harry said, if only to break the silence.

“Hey. Are you... feeling better?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah.”

Harry watched as a wave of relief washed over Draco, removing some of the tension.

“Er... Well, I really didn't want to bother you, but Pansy was very insistent so... she wants to know if you're up for dinner tonight.”

Harry looked at him confusingly for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. Pansy Parkinson, the girl who hated him for years and was ready to give him up to Voldemort, wanted to have dinner with him? It took him some time to remember that she was also dating Ginny and was best friends with one of his friends. If someone would have told him in 1997 that something like this would happen he would've laughed in their face and then suggested they had their brain checked, because they were completely mental.

Instead of pointing out how ridiculous this whole situation was, Harry just asked, “You're coming too, right?”

Draco hesitated as if he wasn't expecting that question.

“She didn't _explicitly_ invite me, but of course I am. No way I'm leaving you alone with her,” he replied.

Harry chuckled. “I don't know, I feel a bit guilty since we still haven't found out much about her case. We can't even ask her if our lead is the right one, she might say the wrong thing...”

Draco nodded understandingly. “Yeah, I told her it was a bad idea. Tell you what, I'll say we can have dinner once this thing is solved, all right?”

“Fine by me,” Harry said with an easy smile. In that moment, he felt a wave of affection for Draco. “Hey, how about we eat takeaway in the office after everyone's gone and work on it?”

 

 

They were discussing whether Goyle could be involved in the 'case' (Draco thought he was stupid enough to follow if someone a bit smarter suggested it) when Ginny appeared in the doorway.

“Guys!” she said, looking alarmed. “Is Pansy here?”

“No, Ginny. It's eleven, the Ministry isn't even open to...” Harry bagan.

“I can't find her,” she cut him off, her voice tingeing with desperation. Draco immediately stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. They weren't that close, not at all actually, but the worry that something might've happened to his best friend made him forget that.

She went on unprompted. “She said she wanted to have dinner with you two, then she said you cancelled and if I could go keep her company, but I had a business dinner and I told her I would come by later... I've been to her flat, the protective charms were broken, the lights on, and no trace of her...”

Her voice broke and her eyes were misty with terrorised tears. Draco didn't know what to do, or what to say. He just stood there uselessly, his hands on her shoulders. This was his fault. That's why Pansy had been so insistent: she knew they would come tonight. He barely noticed he and Ginny were both trembling.

“Calm down, both of you. Draco, I need you sharp. Ginny, go fetch Ron, Hermione too if she can help, and stay in Pansy's flat. Search it from top to bottom and keep watch, she might return if she's okay,” Harry directed with a practical tone. “Can you do that?” Harry patted Ginny’s arm encouragingly, and she nodded.

Draco felt his hands empty and realised she was gone. He kept thinking how it was his fault, that if he had accepted the invite both he and Harry would've been there when they arrived, of course she couldn't say it outright but she practically begged him to...

“Draco, it's not your fault. We can still help her.” Harry said. Now _his_ hands were on Draco's shoulder. He felt a sudden surge of electricity coming from the spot where their bodies touched.

“We should go to her flat, I could find their magic trace,” Draco said, realising Harry had sent Ginny and Weasley to do a job he could do way better.

"No, listen to me. If they've taken her, if she's their hostage... we don't have time. We have to go to the Department of Mysteries and stop them there."

 

Draco couldn't believe he was breaking in one of the most secretive departments of the Ministry with Harry Potter. Most of the surrealism of the situation was lost on him, being worried and all, but the intrusion still filled him with anxiety. Was it still a crime if you did it to stop a crime? It worked all right for Harry before.

“Aren't there deadly traps everywhere in this place?” Draco asked as they walked down the long, dark corridor in Level Nine. That place gave him the creeps. He could see himself reflected on each black tile on the walls, and the eyes on his reflection looked dead. No windows, no doors, just the echoes of their steps and that black door at the end.

Harry, by contrast, looked perfectly confident and determined.

“Don't worry, I managed to break in here when I was fifteen. How hard can it be?”

Draco didn't point out that more than ten years had passed and security could have been improved _precisely_ because some fifteen year-old broke in.

Harry opened the door and they stepped into a circular room full of handleless doors, each flanked by two candles with a blue flame.

"Get ready," he warned, and the door shut behind them. The room started to rotate and Draco felt a moment of disorientation as the blue flames fused together to form a bright trail.

“Woah, they sped up the rotation since last time,” was all Harry had to say. Once it stopped, he flicked his wand and the candlelights flickered briefly: every pair of candles changed colour, each different from the others'.

“How did you know to do that?” Draco asked.

Harry gave him an unsteady smile. “I don't want to make it sound like Hermione isn't a good Unspeakable but... she told me as soon as they hired her. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought about it when we broke in! In her defence, she didn't suspect I would try to destroy one of the subjects being studied here.”

“Is that what you're doing?” Draco asked, a crease between his eyebrows.

“No, we're here to save Pansy and make sure the brain isn't stolen. But, if it were damaged as we fight with the thieves...” he trailed off. “Now, what colour you think could be associated with brains?”

They tried the green ones, because Harry remembered the brains being submerged in a green liquid. Behind that door, however, was a room full of clocks and a huge bell jar that contained sparkles of dancing light. Draco barely had the time to glimpse at it that Harry closed the door. The room spun again.

“I guess the colours could be randomly assigned. They probably make Unspeakables memorise which colour goes with which room.”

They tried three other doors, one of which didn't even open, and finally found the Brain Room behind the door lit by purple flames.

Draco stopped on the threshold, horrified by the many, many brains that swam in a green solution inside a huge tank in the middle of the room. How could they look so alive, separated from their bodies? Harry, unconcerned, went on to the end of the room, checking that no one was hiding behind the desk.

“Well, no one's here. I have to say, though, I'm officially alarmed by how easy it still is to enter this department unauthorised,” Harry commented.

Draco was barely registering Harry's words: he spotted a huge jar in a glass cabinet behind Harry, and he couldn't tear his eyes off of it. In it was an ill-looking brain. It idly floated up and down, having no room to swim, its tendrils jerking randomly once in while.

He moved closer to it, opened the cabinet and brushed his fingers against the jar. Harry, who curiously watched him up to that point, jumped forward to grab his hand.

“Don't touch it!”

Draco wanted to ask why but he couldn't concentrate because there was a voice in his head, and it wasn't his conscience. It was calling his name.

“It's... it's his,” he managed to say.

“All the more reason not to touch it,” Harry said, still holding his hand. He sounded worried. Draco couldn't tear his eyes off to confirm it.

“Draco. Oi.”

Harry positioned himself between him and the brain, breaking his line of sight. Harry's eyes were right where his own had been locked on the jar, and they were greener than ever in the brain-juice glow.

He never realised more clearly than that moment that Harry was _there._ He felt an urge to shove him out of the way and stare at that brain some more, but also to push him against the cabinet and kiss him like he never kissed anyone before. That sudden rush of lust was enough to make him recompose himself and remember that he was an ace at Occlumency and that he shouldn't be hearing a dead man's voice in his head.

“I'm fine, I-” he barely managed to say before Harry leaned in and kissed him.

 

 

Harry just couldn't help himself. It was the building up of the last months, it was Draco's lost expression as he looked at him, his eyes darkening when Harry came in between him and the brain. He couldn't say how long the kiss lasted, the green light and the unfamiliar room making the setting dreamlike. Taken aback for the fraction of a second, Draco soon responded to the kiss not by shying away or pushing him, but by grabbing his collar and trying to eat him raw.

Harry only pushed back was when he needed to breathe. He studied Draco's expression, searching for uncertainty, and he found it plain as day, as Draco worriedly looked for regret in Harry's eyes. He was about to reassure him, or apologise, or say anything at all, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The door to the Brain Room was silently opening, a  blade of multi-coloured light projecting onto the opposite wall. Though he saw it rather early, Harry wasn't quick enough to react.

“Expelliarmus!” two distinct male voices shouted in unison.

The door shut behind the other intruders, still unknown to Harry and Draco; once again, the only light in the room was the soft green glow coming from the solution in the tank.

“Hope we didn't interrupt anything, lads.”

“Yikes. I really hope we didn't.”

“See, what did I tell you? Of course Potter was going to make it here.”

“Almost makes me vomit to think that Malfoy really is his friend. I thought Parkinson was joking.”

Harry didn't recognise the voices, but they were vaguely familiar. Their faces, too, though he felt like he last saw them many, many years before.

“...Montague? Is that you?” Draco asked in a murmur.

One of them snorted. “I'm touched, Draco. I always thought we should've kept in touch.”

“Hey, what about me, don't you remember me?” the other one asked, sounding hurt.

Draco took a few more seconds before responding. “Er...”

Harry was pretty sure he was mocking him. Even he recognised the guy by now: it was Cassius Warrington, one of Slytherin's Chasers he played against in the third year.

Montague cackled as Warrington murmured a hearty 'fuck you'.

“Well, we're not here for pleasantries as you might've guessed,” Warrington said, still pissed off.

“Where's Pansy?” Draco asked.

“Shut up. I want you-” Montague pointed at Harry with the tip of his wand, “-to reach behind you and grab that pretty jar.”

Harry had a backup wand in a holster around his ankle, Draco knew. One of them had to distract the perps while the other bent down. Harry obliged very slowly. He bumped his left hand into a couple of empty vials inside the cabinet, making one of them shatter on the floor.

“Hey! Don't try to be smart, Potter,” warned Warrington.

When he turned around, holding the jar, he saw Draco shaking his head imperceptibly. There were two of them, of course they had enough eyes to watch them both.

“All right. Put it on the desk and open the lid.”

Harry hesitated. He knew what happened when one of those tendrils touched a person, and he wasn't eager to find out what power Voldemort's brain still had.

“What the hell are you trying to do?” Draco asked.

“What you're too afraid to, you idiot,” Warrington said. “Open it!” he screamed at Harry.

Harry wondered if by now the Unspeakables hadn't been alerted that someone broke into their department. Were they really that careless? Both Warrington's and Montague's wands were pointed at him as his hand hovered over the jar lid. It was the perfect moment for Draco to act.

He glimpsed Draco crouching and felt him grabbing his pant leg.

“Malfoy!” Montague yelled, and in his rage shoot a spell at them, hitting the jar and breaking it into a thousand pieces. The brain hit the polished wood with a disgusting squelch, but stood otherwise inactive as the green solution dripped to the floor. Harry crouched under the desk with Draco, who was sending charms over his head.

“Draco!” he yelled, “Stop firing blindly, the brains-”

There was a crash and a splash; Montague and Warrington, who were on the other side of the tank, stopped casting spells and started screaming. Harry poked his head out of cover to see what was happening: the tank had broken and several tendrils were attaching to every inch of exposed skin they could find. Harry stood up, with the intention of finding his wand and help them. Something weird was happening though, he felt weak, and his mind was starting to fog, as if he was about to pass out. He looked down at his hand and saw an ill-looking, single tendril attached to his forearm. He weakly tried to rip it off before losing consciousness. His vision blurred and darkened.

 

It was night, and it was cold. He looked up, expecting to see stars, but the sky was pitch black. Although wearing shoes (or at least he thought he was? it was impossible to tell in the darkness) he could feel grass beneath his feet.

There was a tiny speckle of light in the distance, that's where he had to go. As he walked the scenery around him became more and more clear and he realised he was at Hogwarts, on the fields, going towards the Astronomy tower. He didn't want to, but somehow felt he was supposed to.

The speckle never became nearer. As he tried to reach it, he stumbled on something, and almost fell on his backside as he saw it was Fred's corpse. A wail of horror escaped him. He tried to run away from him, finding more death: Lupin, Tonks, Hedwig, Dobby, Cedric... a trail of bodies accompanied him to the tower. Or, at least, where the tower should've been. There he found Dumbledore and his parents, and right there in the middle of that terrible graveyard, the Veil, its archway more imposing than he remembered, its curtain waving and whispering. Harry fell to his knees, not feeling anything and feeling too much at the same time, and screamed, desperate to make it all stop.

He considered going through the Veil. He knew this wasn't real, it had to be a dream, right? But he was afraid. He was afraid that right now he was on the _other_ side of the Veil, and going through it would turn the world of the living upside down. He was afraid that he could die for real. He was afraid that on the other side he would find them, those he killed, alive and well and he wouldn't ever want to leave.

He sat down, back against the stone of the arch, and closed his eyes.

 

 

It took a moment for Draco to notice that he was battling alone. He hoped Potter was putting together one of his brilliant plans, and turned to him to see what the hell he was doing. A gasp escaped his lips when his eyes fell on Potter's, upturned and white, grey tentacles gripping his forearm so tight that his skin was turning bright red around the contact spots. A few curses flew over their heads, crashing the last of the glass jars and letting brains splatter to the ground, their tentacles flailing desperately for something to grab. Draco immediately pulled his legs closer to his body to get out of their reach , then hurried to move Potter's legs away, too. For good measure, he blindly shot a couple hexes over the desk, to make it known to their assailants they hadn't won yet. Suddenly the wall in front of Draco became bright with light from the candles outside, followed by a brief commotion and overlapping of many voices and shouts. Draco cautiously peered around the corner of the desk to see what was happening. Montague was laying down, unconscious, and Warrington was protesting as a thick vine around his body stopped him from being dangerous. Then Draco saw Granger’s enraged expression, and a few more wizards and witches behind her with their wands pointed at the criminals.

Granger’s eyes flickered to Draco as soon as a lock of his hair appeared from behind the desk.

“Draco,” she said, moving carefully not to step on the larger glass shards on the floor. Her eyes roved the area behind the desk as she approached, but her wand hand moved, seemingly on its own, pointing at the gasping brains and making them float to a newly-conjured tank near the entrance. Her colleagues who weren’t busy keeping an eye on Montague and Warrington were doing the same.

Draco didn’t care about all that. He turned back to Potter, his heart doing an unpleasant jump at Potter’s colouring. His skin was waxy, sweat beading on his forehead, multiple tendrils now enveloping his arm.

“Don’t touch him,” Granger warned with authority as she was near enough to finally see what was happening. Draco could hear from her voice how upset she was even without looking. She kneeled next to Draco.

“You... you stupid idiots. You shouldn’t have... _I_ shouldn’t have... Oh, blimey,” she concluded, a tear escaping down her cheek as she helplessly looked Harry over.

“I can help him,” Draco said without realising he was going to speak.

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione said, wiping the tear away. “It’s Voldemort’s brain. It touched only one other person, and that person has been hospitalised at the St Mungo’s for the last seven years. He can’t...” She choked on her own words, unable to finish the sentence. Draco respectfully looked away, feeling like he was going to be in the same state in exactly a minute if he kept staring at Harry without doing _something_.

A man came closer to their position, and only then Draco noticed it was Ron Weasley. He stood petrified for a moment when Harry came into his field of view, but immediately put a consoling hand on Hermione’s shoulder, avoiding to look at his best friend as much as he could.

“Healers are on their way,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. Hermione gave a loud sob and rose with a sudden motion to bury her face in Weasley’s chest. Weasley hugged her protectively, and the glare he gave Draco was accusing. Why hadn’t he protected Harry? Why was his best friend lying unconscious and probably forever damaged instead of Draco? Draco knew, because he was asking himself the same questions.

“I can help him,” Draco repeated, this time more confident. It didn’t really matter if he was actually able to do it, as long as he tried.

Weasley lifted an eyebrow. “How?”

“No, Ron, don’t...” Hermione protested, but Weasley hugged her tighter, his eyes pressing Draco to go on.

“I’m good at Occlumancy,” Draco answered matter-of-factly.

“No, you don’t understand, it’s not just a mind thing. That thing sucks out your life, your will to live. Even if you can shield your sanity from its attack, you will never be the same. Harry... It’s too late for him. We can only hope it doesn’t kill him before the mediwi-”

“Aren’t you his best friends?” Draco snapped, getting on his feet. His knees hurt. “How can you look at him while his life gets drained away in front of you? After all you’ve been through, you’re going to let him go like this?”

Weasley’s jaw muscled shifted in anger, Hermione lowered her eyes.

“Draco,” she said, her tone pleading, “there is nothing-”

“We have kids now,” Weasley interrupted, his expression stony. “It was fine when we were younger, but now...”

“Well, I don’t have kids,” Draco said, and reached with his hand to pet the disgusting brain. As soon as his skin came in contact with its slimy exterior one of the tendrils released Harry’s arm with a sucking noise and came to wrap around Draco’s fingers.

He felt his muscles going slack, his eyelids growing heavy, and the image of Hermione and Weasley embraced, looking at him, was the last thing he saw before it all became black.

 

 

It took him a moment to realize he was in Malfoy Manor. It was very dark, but he couldn’t mistake the hallways he walked all his life for anywhere else. In front of him, sturdy, terrible, the door to the Drawing room. Even though it had been redecorated in the following years, he knew that if he opened that door, the furniture would be amassed against the wall, the paintings would be staring threateningly at him, and that table in the centre… _he_ would be sitting on one end of it, long fingers joined in front of his reptile face.

Moved by an external force, he opened the door and found himself inside the Room of Requirement. There was no particular object to indicate his position inside the room, just books and meaningless small items in cluttered piles. He spent so much time there in his sixth year that he knew it by heart, and yet...

He felt it before seeing it. It was hot, and it wanted to burn him. Fiendfyre was coming for him, around the corner at his left, devouring everything in his path. He started to run, like he had done so many times in his nightmares.

Where were his friends? Crabbe and Goyle? Goyle should have been at his side. He knew Crabbe was going to die. No matter how many times he tried, he could never save him; if he stayed behind for him or grabbed his hand from the broomstick, he died too. He had learned years ago to watch as the flames consumed his body, unable to change the past. In a moment, Harry and Weasley would come with their brooms and save them. Sometimes Harry was too late, or Draco took a wrong turn and didn't make it to the right spot, but Harry always came. Always.

As he kept running forward, turning right or left once in a while, a sense of desperation started to slow him down. He had been running for a very long time. And at that moment, he stopped, realising Harry wouldn't come this time. He was completely alone.

He could hear the crackling flames just behind him, hungry for his flesh. Nobody would come to save him this time. It was going to eat him alive, just like it had Crabbe.

There, his feet were melting, and his clothes were becoming ash, and his hair... but it was impossible. This was all wrong. His friends should have been there. Harry should have come. He had survived this. So why did this feel so final?

As the flames started licking at his bare bones, held together by some kind of magic, he remembered. This had happened years ago. Now he was probably on the floor of the Cerebroom, his eyes white as Voldemort’s brain sucked the life out of him. And Harry was beside him. That was the reason why he was here, to save Harry.

Draco couldn’t afford to die in the past if he wanted to save Harry in the present.

He collected all his wits about him, trying to overcome the pain from the flames burning his very essence and focus on his Occlumency. From the cracking red, the room completely faded to a silent black.

Draco waited for something, anything to happen, and when nothing did, he started walking. There was a tiny spark in the distance. Maybe it was Harry.

As some light began to seep into the darkness, he glimpsed dead bodies littering the floor. Going on, he realised they were the victims of the Second Wizarding War. But no, not only from the war. Cedric Diggory had the black sky in his empty eyes.

He finally reached a stone archway around which all the bodies seemed to be positioned in pious prayer, and saw Dumbledore’s broken corpse. He reeled, losing balance as guilt and helplessness tugged him in different directions.

 _These are the Dark Lord’s victims,_ he realised, _either killed from his own wand or from his followers_. He was pretty sure his Occlumency abilities were working, so why did he end up in this hellscape graveyard? Only then he saw a trembling figure by the arch, so small and hidden it was easy to miss. It was Harry Potter, and all of it made sense now.

Draco gingerly stepped closer to him, trying not to startle him. Harry's head shot up when he heard his name; his cheeks were streaked with tears and there was a heartbreakingly vulnerable expression on his face.

“Draco?” he all but whimpered. “Are you dead, too?”

Draco shook his head, too upset to speak.

“These people… they are dead because of me. All of them.” Harry's eyes seemed to scan every body in the field, even the ones lost to darkness. “I wasn't worth it. Do you reckon if I walked through the Veil they would come back?”

“No, no Harry, I really don't think so. And yes, you were so worth it, are you serious? You killed the Da- Voldemort, you were the only one-”

“Sirius. Sirius is not here. His body and soul are lost forever.”

Draco sat down next to Harry on the platform, ignoring the incredibly dangerous aura seeping from the arch. “Harry,” he said, grabbing for Harry's hand. It was cold and clammy. “Harry. We need to get you out of here.”

Harry snorted humourlessly. "How?"

“Occlumency. That's how I got out of my hell.”

Harry turned surprised wet eyes to him. “I suck at Occlumency. If I’d been better some of these people would still be alive.”

“Well,” Draco said, offering an encouraging smile and squeezing Harry's hand tighter, “I’m here to help you this time.”

It took longer than Draco expected to have Harry concentrate. He kept opening his eyes to take a guilty glimpse at the corpses and muttering how useless he was. Draco's heart hurt with the fear that this would be Harry from now on, if they ever managed to get out of this place.

After what felt like an eternity of intermittent focus, Harry did it. The darkness around them became a grey dawn and transitioned into a thin fog, which dissipated slowly, showing a space so white it hurt Draco's eyes. But it wasn't the Brain Room. It was a train station. It was… King’s Cross?

He turned quizzically to Harry. “I thought we would…” but he soon stopped, seeing Harry's expression.

“We’re dead,” he said, flatly. “We’re both dead. I’m sorry, Draco.”

 

 

There, he killed another person.

In Harry's defence, if Draco hadn't been so eager to save Harry's life he'd still be alive, although that could be said for some of the bodies around the Veil as well. He defeatedly sat down on a nearby bench, no sign of the tiny skinned baby around. Would he have to spend the rest of eternity there with Draco? He cast a sideways glance at him. They had all the time to get to know each other better, no doubt about it. And to get on each other's nerves, too.

A figure entered Harry's field of view and he looked at it. It was Dumbledore. A part of him expected it, the other was surprised to find him still there. Did he just roam the afterlife waiting for Harry to come to visit him?

“Harry,” he greeted with arms open and palms to the white sky.

Harry was vaguely aware of Draco jerking is head towards Dumbledore and cautiously stepping back.

“And Draco as well,” Dumbledore continued, his smile just as welcoming. “How you've both grown, and I’m not speaking only of your age. You’ve become two fine men, and close friends too.”

“Professor…”

“Harry, please. I haven't been a professor for… thirteen years now. You can call me Albus, we've reached that point, I reckon.”

“Sir, why are we here? Together?” Harry asked, his voice going higher on the last word.

“You should know by now that this place abides by mysterious rules.”

“Sir, that thing… the baby, it’s not here.”

“Is that really what concerns you right now, Harry?”

Dumbledore’s eyes shifted significantly to Draco, who had retreated some more steps during the conversation. Harry looked at him and the sheer terror in his face.

“Draco…” he called, standing up and walking closer to him.

“What's he doing here? What's going on?”

Harry sighed. He had no answers to give. “I don't know. I've been here before but… it was different. I was naked.”

“How did you get out?”

Harry smiled apologetically. “I came back to life.”

Draco looked away, scorning at the inexistent horizon.

“Great.”

“Hey, you’re the one that followed me in here with your hero complex,” Harry shrugged.

“ _I_ have a hero complex?! Maybe you should have let me go to Azkaban instead of vouching for me at the trial!”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “What are you saying? You’ve saved so many people! I’m.... I’m glad I was there,” Harry said, his voice getting lower towards the end.

Draco seemed to calm down a bit, an attractive pinkness spreading on his cheeks. “Don’t complain if I want to return the favour, then,” he all but whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

A silence grew heavy between them.

“Do you know what I regret?” Dumbledore asked point blank. Both Harry and Draco turned to him with wide eyes, having forgotten he was even there. “There are so many things I’m remembered for, and young witches and wizards still look up to me. I’ve become the kind old man in the tales parents tell to their children. Being an inspiration for the new generations, that’s what everyone should aspire to. ‘Live like someone is going to follow in your footsteps’” he said, opening his arms with a smile.

Then the smile dropped. “Being an emblem of justice and power is good. But confidence, self-confidence, that’s the foundation of happiness. During my long life I hid an important part of me, even from those closest to me. I loved a man in my youth, and never loved again, because the pain was too much to bear, and I was afraid that if it happened again, it would undo me. No one knows how much the great Albus Dumbledore was scared of heartbreak, and if people knew… I wouldn’t look like a model to aspire to, would I?

I regret it now. I should have celebrated it, shared it, inspired young witches and wizards. Having hidden it like a dark secret, it’s as if I myself saw it like something dirty, a feeling to be ashamed of. That was not my intention, of course, but that’s how it turned out.”

Dumbledore’s eyes were glistening, the lines around his eyes had a sad crease to them.

Harry felt a sting in his eyes as the words struck a chord deep in his chest, resonating with thoughts he had before. Dumbledore was looking at him with an intensity that brought him back to his Hogwarts years, that gaze acquiring new significance.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice breaking imperceptibly. "I would have been a different person if I'd been more honest. You too, probably. I'd like to think that you would have been one of the youths I inspired."

Harry worried at his lip, wondering how his life would have been if that had been the case. He glanced at Draco, catching him with a pained frown, clearly affected by the words. Silence was weirdly loud in that infinite white space.

“That’s all I had to say,” Dumbledore said, rubbing his hands together. “Harry. Draco. I think you’re expected elsewhere.”

Dread filled every inch of Harry’s body. The train was coming. It was silent as it stopped in front of them, the doors opening on their own, calling to them.

“Have a nice journey,” Dumbledore saluted.

 _Death is but the next great adventure_.

With a nod to Dumbledore and a last guilty look at Draco, Harry boarded the wagon.

 

 

Draco opened his eyes slowly. He couldn’t feel his body in places, and all he could see were indistinguishable blurry shapes. He groaned, trying to move.

Hands lay gently on both of his shoulders, grounding him. Feeling safe, he closed his eyes.

 

There were distant voices echoing. His sight was a bit better now, but there was nothing to see, only white.

“Am I in hell?” he grumbled hoarsely.

“Nope, just St Mungo.”

It took a moment for Draco’s muscles to obey his will and let him turn towards the voice. Harry was sitting in a chair next to his bed, dressed up like a patient himself. His arm was bandaged where the tendrils had grabbed him.

“I’m having a deja-vu,” he mumbled, his head going back to stare up at the ceiling.

Harry snorted and from the scraping noise Draco could tell he stood up from the chair.

“Mr Potter, I thought I told you to stay in bed,” said an unknown feminine voice. “Welcome back, Mr Malfoy! How are you feeling?”

The Healer checked on him, first by lightly imposing her hand on his forehead, then by scanning his body with the pulsating tip of her wand.

"Good news, Mr Malfoy, you don't seem to suffer from long-lasting damage. I wouldn't use any spells for a few days, though. Mr Potter can tell you all about it, since he's been recommended to do the same, many many times." There was a hint of reproach in her tone that made Draco smile.

Before leaving, the Healer offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll let your mother in, now. She’s… eager to see you.”

Draco suppressed a sigh. His mother’s overprotectiveness was so embarrassing at his age.

“Hey, at least we didn’t die,” Harry whispered, seeing Draco’s expression.

Draco hummed, trying to recollect all the facts from the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort’s brain, Montague, Warrington, Hermione… Dumbledore?

Harry moved closer to the door, his hand pressed against its smooth frame. “I know, it takes some time to make sense of it. I’ll leave so you can-”

“No, Harry, wait.”

He remembered the heap of corpses on Harry’s conscience, the fear, the guilt, the white train station, their bodies pressing as they kissed against the cabinet. He tried to shake it off.

“Don’t worry, we can talk later,” said Harry with a bittersweet smile, and left.

There was a lot to talk about, indeed, only Draco wasn’t sure what to say about it. He knew what he _should_ do, even if it wasn’t necessarily what he wanted.

 

Narcissa’s visit took most of the afternoon. She kept insisting that the Mediwizards should let her take Draco home, that he needed real rest and he couldn’t get it in a room with Harry Potter.

“So many visitors,” she mumbled, as if the fact disgusted her. “First his friends came with their child, then the half-giant from Hogwarts, then people from the Auror’s office… I’m surprised the Minister himself hasn’t come yet.”

Draco spared a glance at Harry's empty bed. He'd left hours ago, blatantly disobeying the Healer's words. He suspected Narcissa's presence had something to do with it.

Sure enough, when she was asked to leave and come back the next day, Harry slipped back into the room and threw himself on his bed. There were a lot of things Draco wanted to say, so many he didn’t know where to start. He stared at the ceiling, trying to recollect his scattered thoughts.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked.

Draco turned to face him as much as he could from his position; Harry was lying on his belly, glasses slightly askew, cheeks pink.

“I’m not sure… I think I need to rest some more, maybe tomorrow I’ll take a walk if the Healer lets me.” He let a brief silence settle before asking, “You?”

Harry shrugged, answering without really saying anything. _I feel weird_ , it meant, _I think I’m okay, but something’s off_. Draco knew, he felt the same.

“Could we really be fine? After being touched by…?”

Harry sighed and lifted his upper body from the mattress. “I don’t know. They didn’t find anything, but who knows what it will do in the long run? They want us to stay a few days under observation.”

Draco nodded and looked away. He was tired, Potter was as well, probably. There was no need to talk that night. Besides, he had to be sure what to say, and at the moment, he wasn’t at all.

 

The next day Hermione and Weasley came again with their little Rose. She looked like a miniature Hermione, and Draco found himself exchanging funny faces with her while her parents mumbled quietly with Harry on the other side of the room. He liked her, and it kept him too busy to try and eavesdrop on what was being said.

“Are you bothering Draco, Rosie?” Hermione said, coming up on her daughter and lifting her up by the armpits.

Draco smiled warmly at them both. It was the first time he felt somewhat human ever since the brain touched him. He wanted to ask them to stay, even beg, desperate to hold on to that sensation; he could make weird faces for hours.

“Here, go play with uncle Harry a bit,” Hermione said to the child, handing her to Harry, who looked like he was afraid to drop her and immediately put her down on the bed.

Hermione turned to Draco again, and came closer, grabbing one of the chairs and sitting down on it. Weasley stepped nearer as well, his expression and stride clearly indicating his reluctance in doing so. There was a terribly awkward pause, then Hermione cleared her throat and elbowed her husband’s side.

“Right, er. We just… wanted to thank you for saving Harry, I guess.”

“You guess? Ron, don’t be rude. Thank you, Draco, you did what we couldn’t. Who knows what could have happened if you…”

Draco’s heart dropped to his stomach. They didn’t know about Draco’s obligation, they thought he did it because of altruism or something.

“No, I… I needed to do it, because… Harry saved me in the past, and I…”

“We know,” Hermione intervened. “He told us. Well, this certainly counts as a debt paid, doesn’t it, Ron?”

“Yeah, definitely,” he replied a bit stiffly.

Bending to the side just enough to have a view of Harry intently playing with the kid, Draco wondered if he’d put them up to this.

“I guess,” he sighed, and let his gaze drop to the floor. The warmth from minutes ago was gone. He just wanted to lay in bed and not think and possibly sleep.

As Hermione and Weasley were saying their goodbyes, Narcissa arrived, and Draco was horribly reminded that it was still early in the day, and there were many hours between him and bedtime. He tried to look normal, lest he worried his mother, but he really felt drained and told her she didn't need to come every day for hours, that he could manage to rest on his own.

“I’m not that sure. You look sickly, Draco, you’re sweating and your eyes are red. But don’t worry,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder to Harry. He was in his bed, bent over a huge book Hermione brought him, moving his lips quietly. “I asked the Mediwizards to move you to another room. You’ll rest properly there.”

Draco would have protested, had he not agreed with his mother. He really needed some time alone, away from Harry.

 

 

They ended up spending four days in the hospital before the Head of the Auror Department demanded they be discharged if there was nothing wrong with them. Harry was relieved to be released: the whole Weasley family had come to visit him the day before with Hagrid, and the room had been really suffocating for an hour or so. He couldn’t wait to get back in action, after doing the desk time the Healers had insisted on for him and Draco.

Draco had changed rooms on the second day after they woke up, and Harry had barely see him since then. He knew Narcissa was behind the move, but he had seen little resistance from Draco, so he guessed he should leave him alone. If he really wanted to see Harry, he could always cross the ward to his former room.

A couple hours before their scheduled release, Harry gathered himself and walked that path himself. He was afraid Draco would disappear on him, and he couldn’t let that happen, not before getting something off his chest.

He knocked on the closed door, hoping Narcissa wasn’t inside. He would have to face her eventually, but he’d rather not do it while disarmed and wearing a hospital gown. Draco beckoned him in.

Sitting up on the bed, he looked better than he had two days earlier; his hair was not sticking to his forehead and the eyes seemed more focused on what was in front of him rather than the thoughts in his head.

“Hi,” Harry said, registering the shadow of alarm passing in Draco’s eyes. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. I was just…”

Draco was clearly uncomfortable, as if Harry caught him doing something embarrassing.

“I didn’t really get up much these past few days,” he continued, “I was taking a walk around the room.”

Harry nodded and took a seat beside Draco on the bed. “Maybe you should stay a bit more? You don’t look ready to go back to work.”

The words were met by frenetic gestures of refusal. “No, no, I’ve had enough of this place. I’ll be fine at home. With mother.”

“Okay. Well, I came because we obviously need to talk about a lot of things, but…”

Draco was still pretty rough and Harry didn’t want to vex him further.

“My theory is that Voldemort’s brain was feeding on our sanity as it slipped away from us, by trapping us in our worst nightmare. It used our memories, and our fears, our regrets, our guilt. I don’t know where that brought you, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t nice. ”

Harry had wondered what Draco’s hellscape looked like. The Astronomy Tower, the Room of Requirement, the girls’ bathroom, the Forbidden Forest. Hogwarts alone was full of bad memories for him.

“What I’m getting at is that it all happened inside our heads. We weren’t transported anywhere, we were all connected through our brains, you, me and Voldemort. The veil was in my head. The bodies were in my head. That’s why Occlumency was the key. I bet you already knew that,” he added with a bitter laugh.

Draco didn’t say anything, studying the bedsheets’ folds as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

“When we ended up in the train station… It wasn’t the same I’ve been in before. It was the memory of a memory. And that wasn’t the real Dumbledore, it was me. It was a manifestation of my fears and regrets. I don’t even know if what he said about himself was true, I just know now that those were the thoughts that spun in my head for years, and I’m so tired of living in this swirl of uncertainty and guilt. I want to be happy now. I want to be me whether I’m with my friends or the rest of the world. I want young witches and wizards to know that they are not alone, that if they are like me, like us… they shouldn’t be afraid. I want-”

He choked on the word, eyes foggy with tears. He knew he wouldn’t make it through the speech without getting emotional, no matter how many times he rehearsed it in his head. There were still so many things to say, to ask, to hope for, but there was no time nor energy.

“Draco, I’m trying to say that I want to be honest from now on, and I was wondering if you’ll be by my side.”

Draco was almost trembling, staring at Harry like he couldn’t take his eyes off a horror scene.

“I did a lot of thinking too,” he managed to whisper. His voice became steadier as he went on. “I returned the favours I owed you. I saved you twice, and I can finally say that I’m at peace with myself. I never wanted to be an Auror, or an Investigator for that matter. So, I’ll be leaving the MLE Department.”

“But, you’re so good at it! You can do so mu-”

“Please, Harry, I let you talk. Let me finish. This whole thing hasn’t gone exactly how I’d imagined. Judging from our past, I guessed I would save you and you would forever resent me for it, I would leave and we would never see each other.” He let out a dry laugh, his eyes sad. “Well, that’s actually pretty accurate. What I didn’t predict is this... this pain. I never thought we could become friends, I never dared to dream of it. Shit, this is so fucking hard!”

Harry watched silently as Draco took a few deep breaths to calm himself, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arm around him, forcing himself to keep his hands between his own thighs.

“I gave this purpose to myself so I could be finally free from _you_. I couldn’t let you go until we were even. Now… I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m looking to the future. Tomorrow is the start of the rest of my life. And you’re not going to be in it.”

Harry had prepared himself for both of the possible outcomes, or so he thought. He had known from the beginning it was going to be this way, but to actually hear it from Draco was too much. He was going to fall to his knees and start crying like a child if he didn't leave immediately.

 _As long as you believe in it, Draco_.

He stood up, nodding politely, and hurried out the door.

What a pitiful last meeting, what a sad ending. But Draco was right. Life went on, and Harry had just proclaimed how he was going to be happy in it. He was determined to accomplish just that, with or without Draco.

 

 

_Three weeks after the hospital discharge_

 

Draco sat on the edge of his bed, glaring at the open letter on his cherry finish desk. Awfully bold of the Department of Mysteries to invite him to the team after he almost died in one of their offices. When he talked about needing a change, he had envisioned something else, like moving to France, not simply to another level of the same building. His body still felt too weak for such a drastic change, though.

Ironic, how he was the one who stayed the least inside the sick brain-reality, and yet was the one to come out worse for wear. Well, as long as it had served its purpose, he couldn’t complain too much. He got what he wanted, Harry Potter out of his life forever, except for the occasional Prophet article, of course. Good for him, he could live honestly like he always wanted, now. And good for Pansy, too, for getting another exclusive from the Chosen One. Draco wondered if coming out publicly was really enough to make him happy for the rest of his life; not that he ever intended to follow in his steps.

Being an Unspeakable wasn’t any more attractive to him than being an Investigator had been when he started out. Just another job to fill his time until he could retire into the Manor and be a grumpy old wizard. Working side by side with Hermione could be a problem, though. The ideal situation for him would have been to have no contact with anyone close to Harry; seeing how Pansy was still dating Ginny, that was a tough job already.

He was glad Pansy had been found mostly unharmed, unconscious inside Montague’s flat. But now she kept inviting him for dinner to celebrate Montague and Warrington’s conviction, and Draco kept refusing and making up excuses, because he knew her, he knew that Harry would be there as well. She was really down in the dumps for how the relationship between Draco and Harry had ended. She questioned Draco about his decision every time she saw him, which was why he had been avoiding her lately, telling his mother he was too tired to receive visits. After explaining it to her half a dozen times, there was no hope that she would understand that it had to be done for the best of everyone involved. He was tired of repeating the same thing. Even his mother and Blaise, who never took much interest in his private life, suddenly seemed way too involved.

What he needed was to take a break from them all, and that room, and that letter waiting for his reply. He needed a vacation from his life.

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say that what Harry and Dumbledore say about coming out is not a universal truth. I was inspired to write that part by Sir Ian McKellen's words about his coming out, but I don't really believe you have to be out to the world to be happy, I just thought that it would fit Harry's character arc in this fic.


	4. Time, Truths, and Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing kid and burned skin

About a month after leaving the hospital, while sitting in front of the stack of papers on his work desk, Harry received a letter from Pansy, inviting him over at her flat for dinner. He remembered the promise they’d made: “dinner after this thing is solved”, Draco had said.

He replied that yes, of course he was going to go, his heart part hopeful part dreading, wondering if Draco would be there. There was a pretty good chance that he wouldn't, finding an excuse not to be there; or he could go, be friendly with Pansy and Ginny and cold and detached to Harry. Honestly, none of those options was as scary as the third was. If Draco was going to chat amiably with Harry and pretend everything was normal, Harry was sure he would end up crying in the bathroom or leaving early to avoid embarrassing himself.

And yet, seeing Draco would be one of the best things that happened to him ever since the last case, and the hope to see him again, no matter how he would behave, greatly outweighed all his fears.

True to his word, Draco never came back to the Auror's office. Harry hadn't seen him come by to resign, and he didn't have the nerve to ask his colleagues or his boss if he had.

And, well, his coming out story seemed to be all people wanted to talk about with him lately.

Pansy had been so grateful that he chose her, once again, to communicate something so important to the Wizarding world. The general reaction had been of acceptance: his closest friends already knew, of course; the Weasleys had been shocked but at the same time very respectful, having already handled a similar case with Ginny. He'd received letters from his former teachers at Hogwarts, congratulating him and begging him to come to visit the school in an unofficial capacity, especially Professor McGonagall. She added, as a post-scriptum, that Dumbledore would have been very proud of him, making Harry's throat choke against a sob. His co-workers preferred not talking about it too much, often trying to ignore the elephant in the room; a couple of them had come to him the day they read the article, shaking his hand and whispering about how they'd suspected all along. Then there was the fastidious reaction of those who weren't close with him at all, who mostly knew him only through the Prophet's lens: for some reason, many of these people had an opinion on his "lifestyle" and thought Harry cared to know all about it. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been intercepted in the Leaky Cauldron or in the middle of the Ministry's main hall and forced to listen to a stranger ramble on about how it was fine that he felt so confident, but he should have kept his personal life from the public, especially young readers. Most of the times, Harry pretended to listen without interrupting, nodding every so often until the speaker was done and politely said, "Thanks for your opinion, I'll keep it in mind" once they were done. Other times, when he was late for something or his day had been particularly frustrating, he interrupted as soon as he understood where the monologue was headed, saying that he didn't ask for their opinion and didn't care to hear it. He tried to keep his nerves at bay though; the last thing he needed was a rumour about how he'd become impolite and unlikable ever since coming out.

But all of the unpleasantness of the situation was cancelled out when Harry went back to Grimmauld Place and saw the ever-growing pile of letters from the younger generations, writing words of thanks and happiness that made all of it really worth it. A few of them were from older witches and wizards; one in particular, from an eighty years old man, made him cry into his morning tea when he read it. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, akin to the one he experienced after defeating Voldemort. He was doing what he did best, helping people, albeit in a new way. The only speck in his newfound happiness and joy of life was, of course, Draco's absence. Rationally, he had kissed their relationship goodbye after their conversation at St. Mungo. There was nothing he could do if Draco didn't want to share his life with Harry; and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. If Draco didn't want to have a romantic relationship, it was perfectly fine. It stung and felt like an unsatisfying ending to their story, but there was nothing to be done in that case, Harry could accept that. Leaving a promising Auror career and disappearing completely from Harry's life, however, made no sense at all. That was self-sabotage, pure and simple, and Harry would not stand for that. He kept musing that thought as he dressed up for dinner, resolute to make his opinion known if Draco was going to be at Pansy's flat that night.

 

“Harry!”

Ginny greeted him by throwing her arms around him in a strangling hug. She was as warm as he remembered, although her perfume was slightly sweeter.

“Hi Ginny,” Harry replied, a sincere smile spreading on his face. It had bothered him at first, to see his ex-girlfriend. He felt guilty. He’d promised her a future together, and then he had been the one to step back,  _ again _ , after promising he wouldn't. He couldn't date other people with a light heart as long as she was single. Ever since she met Pansy, however… Oh, it was a match made in hell, for sure. Both having big personalities, they could either be the best of friends or sworn enemies. Just a year ago Harry wouldn't believe he'd say this, but thankfully it had been the former. Ginny had been really depressed when she'd had to give up Quidditch; Harry had secretly thought that her brilliant idea to become a sports reporter had been a really awful one, that forced her to watch others enjoying something she couldn't anymore. He didn't know what higher power he had to thank for Ginny and Pansy's fateful first meeting, probably Teddy Reese's poor flying abilities and his subsequent fall, but he sure was glad it happened.

The Ginny he saw moving around the kitchen, flicking her wand at obedient knives and pots, was the Ginny he remembered from his sixth year at Hogwarts, a girl full love and optimism. Even if he’d failed in giving her what he promised, he was relieved she’d found someone who could.

“Hiya!” Pansy said, coming into the tiny dining room. She walked to him and softly kissed his cheek, her damp hair barely touching Harry’s jaw. “You’re a punctual guy, just like Draco,” she said. As soon as Draco’s name left her lips, her upbeat attitude cracked.

Harry awkwardly stood in front of her, unsure what to say. From her change in expression, it was obvious something was wrong.

“He’s fine, baby,” came Ginny’s soothing voice from the stove area.

“Yeah, I know, I’m just worried, okay?”

“Did something happen?” Harry asked, unable to keep silent.

Pansy’s eyes widened. “Oh, you… you don’t know?”

“Know what?!”

“He’s in France, ‘finding himself’ or something,” Pansy replied with a vague gesture of her hand.

So, he was not coming to dinner after all.

A battle ensued inside Harry between his curiosity and his wish to protect himself from potentially harmful information.

“No, I didn’t know,” he said, settling for something that wouldn’t betray his interest too much.

“He wrote to me yesterday, says he’s fine and not to worry. If you want to know what I think, I think that’s he’s scouting the place for moving in. To France! There’s no need to-”

Pansy stopped her rambling and gave Harry a measuring look. “Anyway, why don’t you sit, Harry?” she asked, gesturing to one of the four chairs around the square table.

Thoughts swirling in his head, Harry sat down almost mechanically. Draco wanted to move to France. Was it because of Harry? No, it wasn’t possible. Move so far to avoid someone who absolutely respected his decision not to see each other again? And yet, that was exactly the kind of dramatic action a guy who made up an entire system to be close to his teen crush would take.

“Hope you’re ready for my famous pot roast!” Ginny exclaimed, carefully levitating a huge pot to the centre of the table. Forcing a smile in her direction, Harry let the subject drop, determined to enjoy this evening.

The dinner went by, pleasurably so, between a delicious bite of something Pansy and Ginny cooked and a funny anecdote, usually about Ron. By some kind of miracle, they managed to chat for two hours and a half without ever mentioning Draco or the former rivalry that had plagued the present people. Ginny and Pansy seemed to have a peculiar couple dynamic, where one of the two would talk, the other interrupted with a mean comment and they both laughed it off after a brief back and forth of honey-dipped minor insults.

“You’re a bitch,” Ginny said warmly after this scene unfolded in front of an embarrassed Harry for the fourth time.

“You love it,” Pansy replied, gulping down some wine to hide her smirk.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“You’re making our guest uncomfortable.”

“You, too.”

All in all, the night wasn’t what Harry had expected, but he was very glad he accepted the invite.

Their plates had already been levitated to the sink, and only a tiny glass of liquor stood in front of each of them. The chat was starting to steer towards improbable topics, as, Harry learned, both of his hosts were avid readers of the Quibbler.

"Girls, I should be going now," he sighed, looking at the wall clock in front of him. He wished he could stay longer, but he knew Ginny and Pansy had to work early as well.

“Already? Not the Gryffindor who used to sneak out at night anymore, uh?” Ginny joked.

“Leave him alone. You’re younger than us, you don’t know what it’s like,” Pansy scolded her, poking her girlfriend’s shoulder with an angry finger. Ginny laughed, not bothering to remind her she was merely a few months younger.

“Fine, you old farts… I’ll see ya, Harry,” she said instead, walking around the table to reach him. She placed a warm kiss sticky with sweet alcohol on his cheek. “I’ll be in the shower,” she added with a wink to Pansy.

Harry, not prepared to be left alone with Pansy, not even for the few seconds it took to reach the door, looked at Ginny with begging eyes. She either didn't see him or pretended not to, turning around and disappearing around the corner beyond the kitchen entrance.

“Thanks for the invite,” Harry awkwardly stammered, not quite looking Pansy in the eye, rather at her left eyebrow. “It was great.”

“Are you kidding me? Thank  _ you _ , mate, you saved my life.”

Harry wanted to specify in how many ways that phrase was wrong, but held his tongue back, eager to get out of there. Pansy, though, was staring his shirt collar with a fixed gaze, biting her lower lip, her hand hovering over the door handle.

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew about Draco,” she finally said.

A sigh escaped Harry, even him unsure whether from relief or dread. Who else was he going to get information from, if not Draco’s best friend?

“I… It’s fine. He said… I assume he told you?”

“I know a little. I mean, you know how he is, never actually telling how he feels.”

Harry guiltily scratched his nose. In that regard they were very similar.

“He wants to move because of you,” Pansy continued, and Harry’s eyes jumped to hers, expecting to find accusation in them. He didn’t. They were just sad.

“I know you’re a good person. Everyone around you adores you, and you’re honest and brave and all those charming Gryffindor qualities. But I knew you were  _ really  _ good when you helped me out, no questions asked. Me, after all I’ve… tried to do to you and your friends. When I went to Draco, the night Montague and Warrington came to me, I asked him to hide me. You know what he said to me? ‘Let’s go to Harry. He’ll know what to do. He’s going to solve this.’ He never had a doubt that you would do it.”

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, moved by Draco’s trust. He didn’t know what to say.

“We’ve been best friends forever, me and him, and I still get so mad when he deliberately gets in his own way. Now, I might be getting ahead of myself, but I’m sure you wouldn’t break his heart just to have some stupid revenge on his sixteen-year-old self, would you?”

Blinking away his surprise, Harry took a few moments to digest the words.

“Is that what he thinks?”

“I don’t know, maybe? Or maybe he just thinks he deserves it, to be miserable all the time, because he used to be a bad person. Maybe he doesn’t want to let you down or break  _ your  _ heart. Maybe he’s a coward.” She shrugged as if she wasn’t spitting harsh truths about someone she cared about. “All I know is that his mother can’t bring him back to England, Blaise can’t convince him to continue his career and I can’t give him enough love advice to make him hope he has a future with you.” She gave a humourless chuckle. “Not to put pressure on you, but if anyone can show him how much of a git he’s being, it’s going to be you, Harry.”

 

 

Nine long, tough months followed that night. Harry successfully survived the six weeks of desk work recommended by the doctors, even though he still had to see any effects from the brain coma, and was finally back on the field. Though he had been looking forward to it, it didn't live up to expectations. For some reason he was being handed the most boring and safe jobs available, going from meaningless burglaries to handling the crowd around a crime scene that someone else was examining. This tactic reminded him of the one he used on Draco the first months after he became an Auror, and made a mental note to apologize if he ever saw him again. 

Outside of work he was settling back into his former rhythm, between family dinners (which now sometimes included Pansy and Ginny) and quiet nights at home. Nothing could fill the Draco-shaped hole in his life, no matter how much he tried. On one hand, he knew it would gradually shrink until it disappeared; on the other, he was really mad at himself for its existence. The man run away from the country to be rid of him; if it was so easy for Draco, who'd fancied him for longer, why did it have to be so hard for him?

He couldn’t even work up the courage to ask news to Pansy. He didn’t want to prompt a conversation like the one they’d had on her flat’s hallway, and felt a bit guilty that he still hadn’t tried to contact him after all these months, despite what Pansy had told him. He was simply waiting for the right occasion, the perfect excuse that would make his letter look like a necessity rather than a pitiful plea for him to come back. Draco would hate that.

On a Monday evening, in April, he was gathering his things from the desk after being out all day on another boring assignment. As he patted his cloak, checking that everything was in order, he promised himself for the billionth time that the next day he would go to the Head of the Department, requesting better cases. His head was carefully rehearsing the words he would use when his thoughts were cut off completely as his eyes skimmed over one of his colleague's desks. He did a double take, and there were no doubts: an envelope laid on top of a stack of parchment paper, Draco's calligraphy unmistakable. It was still unopened.

Harry’s fingers twitched towards it before his mind caught up with his actions and he glimpsed around the office like a thief with no lookout. The address on the letter was Cullen’s, the Auror that had replaced Draco. Harry’s head immediately crowded with reasons why Cullen might be contacted by Draco. Maybe he left personal belongings inside the desk’s drawers and asked that they be sent to him.

He couldn’t possibly open the envelope, and taking it was out of the question. Or was it? His hand reached tentatively once again, to pick up the envelope and see at least the return address on the other side.

“Harry?” came a voice from behind him, making him jump. It was Cullen himself. “Need something?” he asked, glancing curiously at his desk.

“No, I was just…”

Harry’s effort to make up an excuse was mercifully spared by Cullen’s excited “Ah!” when he saw the letter. Forgetting all about Harry, he gently shoved him away as he reached for the envelope, opening it with a flick of his wand. His eyes scanned quickly through the contents, shoulders slumping as he reached the bottom of it. “Bloody hell!” he spat, crumpling the parchment in his hands.

Only then he noticed that Harry was still in front of him, on the tip of his toes like a child politely demanding his father’s attention. Cullen’s expression changed into one of curiosity.

“I’m told you worked with Malfoy for quite some time.”

Dragging his eyes from the illegible words all crumpled up in Cullen’s fist, Harry nodded.

“I hear he’s the best tracker the MLE has had in forty years, is that true?”

“Oh, yes, he’s definitely the best around.”

Cullen scoffed. “Except he’s not around at all. Won’t consider coming back even for a missing kid. No wonder no one likes him. Well, except for his mum.”

Deciding to ignore the last part, Harry asked, “Missing kid?”

"Yes, a kid from Hogwarts disappeared in the middle of the school year. Crazy, huh? And not one tracker who can find his traces, too. Just my luck that the only one who could is a selfish prick."

Harry nodded repeatedly, a plan taking shape in his head. “He’s pretty difficult to deal with. You should try being stuck working with him for days on end.”

“Yeah, I bet. I’m almost glad he refused, then.”

“What about the kid?” Harry asked, trying to keep his tone as flat as possible.

Cullen shrugged. “Dunno. Someone else will get the case, I imagine.”

Harry shook his head grievously. “Can’t solve them all, mate.”

Cullen started collecting his things, their conversation finished. Now he just knew what case he would demand to be assigned to.

"Ah," he muttered. He needed Draco's address to contact him. The moment he was about to ask for the crumpled envelope he saw Cullen vanishing the letter, its last remains disappearing in thin air. Oh well, the letter route didn't seem to work anyway. He'd have to get more creative.

It was with a confident stride that Harry walked into his boss’ office the following morning. As he suspected, he didn’t even have to ask to be assigned to the missing person’s case: the Head was more than happy to dump it on him.

“It’s fine to bring in external consultants, right?”

“Of course, of course. But you need to be careful, Harry. By some kind of miracle, the press still doesn’t know about it. I want it to stay that way until it’s solved.”

The Head gave him a meaningful look before handing him the parchments with all the info about the disappearance. Harry took it eagerly, almost snatching them from his boss' hand. For the first time, he glanced at the name of the missing kid and had to hold back a gasp. 

He knew that name.

 

With a heavy rock weighting down his stomach, Harry gathered enough courage to knock on the door to Malfoy Manor. To add to his own nervousness, he kept glancing back to make sure none of the peacocks was behind him, ready to strike. It was honestly the last thing he needed.

The door opened without a sound, apparently by itself. Harry took a step forward, already dreading what he would see. He hadn't been inside the Manor since he had been captured during the war. Looking straight ahead he managed to walk across the empty hall and reach the bottom of the stairs, laying an uncertain hand over the polished railing.

“Good morning,” a voice behind him cracked like a whip. Narcissa Malfoy stood with crossed arms in an empty threshold, framed by blackness.

“Good morning, Mrs Malfoy,” Harry squeaked.

“Draco is not home,” she said with a knowing look. “I assume you know he moved away.”

There was a hint of accusation in her tone. Did everyone know about Harry and Draco?

“Yes, I know. But I need his help on a case, it's extremely-”

“You've come to ask for a favour when you ignored my request to keep my only son away from harm?”

Harry had expected this kind of antagonism, and he couldn’t blame her for blaming  _ him _ , even though that last case hadn’t been Harry’s choice at all.

“You’re perfectly right, Mrs Malfoy. I apologize.”

She scoffed dramatically, her eyes turning up to the ceiling hidden in darkness. "It's not really your fault, I know that. My Draco, he… he didn't hesitate to put his life in danger to save yours, and that scares me. If your parents were alive, I'm sure they would have shared the same sentiment all those times you got into trouble."

Despite her words, the delivery was soft, trying to make Harry understand how a mother could feel about her son. Harry thought of his own mother who literally gave up her life for him.

“He’s an adult. It’s natural that you care for him and want to protect him, but you lost the right to demand it the moment he turned seventeen. If you really were so protective you should have stopped him when he let Voldemort mark him and make him his servant.”

Narcissa’s arms loosened as one trembling hand slowly rose to cover her mouth. Noticing her furrowed brows, Harry belatedly realised this wasn’t the right way to go with a woman like her.

“How dare you,” she growled, “How dare you bring that up right now. You were the one who vouched for both of us at our trial!”

Harry moved two steps closer to her, hands up in a calming gesture.

“And I believe you realised your mistake when you covered for me with Voldemort. That’s why I insisted for you to get another chance.”

Once Narcissa's expression turned stony again, he continued, "A fifteen-year-old kid has been missing for five days. Think what his mother must be going through right now. What would you do if Draco had gone missing from Hogwarts in his fifth year? Wouldn't you expect the Aurors to do their best to find him as soon as possible? Wouldn't you insist for them to use their best assets?"

When Narcissa's eyes looked down at her feet and her hands defeatedly fell to her sides, Harry knew he was on the right path to obtain her assistance.

 

 

Draco hurried to the British Embassy in the French Ministry of Magic to request an emergency Floo transfer to Malfoy Manor. He had just received a disturbing communication from his mother via Floo communication and he needed to see her immediately. After going ballistic on the Embassy's employee and dropping on her desk a pouch containing about fifty Galleons, he sprinted to the International Transport room, dancing from one foot to the other as he waited for his name to be called. The entire process had taken him no longer than an hour and a few minutes, which might have been instrumental in saving his mother's life, and he finally shouted the Manor's address into the echoing hearth, releasing a fist of Floo powder on his feet.

His mother was waiting for him in front of the fireplace of the drawing room, immobile and straight like a severe statue.

“Mother,” he gasped, tripping on his own feet with the haste to see how she was. He grabbed her arms, which were tightly embracing her middle, and slightly bent his head to look into her eyes. “Mother, what happened?”

One of her hands got free and rose to his face, caressing his cheek. Draco could see a glint in her eye, reflecting the last of the Floo green flames.

“I’m fine, Draco. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

So she was all right. What a relief. He stopped holding his breath.

“Your message said-”

“Harry Potter is waiting for you in the Blue Room.”

Confusion crossed Draco’s mind. Harry Potter? Why was he waiting for him?

Then he noticed how his mother avoided his questioning eyes, and her hands went back to holding on to her body. Tricked by his own mother.

Letting his arms fall to his sides, he turned away from her and strode out of the drawing room, determined to tell Harry to fuck off. What kind of twisted tale had he been spinning to Narcissa to convince her to lie like that to her son? He had been worried sick, he thought she was dying.

Harry was nervously pacing the Blue room when Draco arrived. He ignored the annoying double flip his heart made at the sight of him and stopped just inside the threshold, hands crossed in a dramatic display of anger.

Harry noticed his arrival and looked up at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Dra-”

“The answer is no. Whatever you wanted to see me so badly for, whatever you need to ask me, no. I thought I’d been clear the last time we talked.”

Harry’s face seemed to melt in disappointment, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“It’s important, Draco. This kid that’s missing-”

“The kid? You mean the one your colleague requested me for?”

“Yes, him. The case was passed on to me and-”

“I already said no to him. What made you think you would get a different response?”

"Because it's my fault he's missing!" Harry all but shouted into the small room. Draco blinked in surprise a few times before remembering to keep his attitude cool and distant.

“What?”

“I  _ think  _ it’s my fault,” he amended. “He wrote to me. Twice.”

“Before disappearing? Why would he…?”

"Because of the article," Harry said. He scratched his neck, staring intently at the detailed carving on one of the antique chest in the corner. "After I came out, I started receiving a lot of letters. Some of them were of disdain, but many were from people thanking me and confiding in me. I have a bunch of them at home," he murmured, blushing. "Justin wrote to me, saying that he was going to work up the courage to come out to his parents during winter break. In late January, he wrote again, saying that it hadn't gone well, that they wouldn't let him stay at Hogwarts over the summer vacation and he was afraid of going back home. I wanted to write back something comforting, but… I didn’t know what. I never stopped to think that coming out could be a bad experience for people with conservative families. I should have thought about that," he concluded, looking back at Draco's face with shame.

“So you think he ran away?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, it makes sense. The Investigators managed to follow his tracks up to the middle of the Forest, he must have gone on his own volition.”

It did make sense up to a certain point.

“You’re telling me experienced Investigators can’t track a runaway teenager?”

“Seems like it.”

“Impossible,” Draco said immediately. “He can’t even perform magic freely at that age. He must have been eaten by a werewolf or something.”

“There are no werewolves in the Forbidden Forest,” Harry recited, rolling his eyes. “Besides, the Investigators would have found something, don’t you think?”

Draco distractedly grabbed his chin and hummed. “What about the centaurs? They’re a shady bunch.”

“Come on, you really believe the would kidnap a kid?”

Draco barely shook his head, trying to consider more options, then stopped and glared at Harry.

“I said I won’t help you.”

Harry couldn’t hide a smirk. “Yes, you said that, but you’re kind of known for doing the opposite of what you really want.”

Draco was about to get his wand from the cloak pocket and jinx him hard when his mother’s figure came out of the darkness of the hallway.

“Draco. Will you do it?” she asked, her voice imploring.

He hesitated, hand ready beneath the cloak. Defeated, he let go.

“Yes, mother. I will.”

 

 

Draco made sure that Harry understood the terms of his assistance: this was to be a purely professional situation. Harry accepted his demand with a stern nod, and Draco believed him. Soon enough, they Apparated separately just outside Hogwarts’ gates. Professor McGonagall, now Headmistress of Hogwarts, was waiting for them just inside the anti-Apparition barrier, writhing her dry hands in front of her chest. Her frown didn’t falter as they stepped in and Harry shook her hand somewhat awkwardly. If anything, it deepened when Draco did the same. She didn’t comment on his presence and went straight to the matter.

"I really hope you are more qualified than the previous Aurors," she croaked, her mouth rigid. "Mr Lowell's absence is starting to stir some curiosity around the castle. We've told the students he's gone home for a family emergency," she explained at Draco's confused expression. "The parents have been awfully patient with your Department, but have subtly hinted that they will sue the school if there is no news of him soon."

The anxious glance she cast downwards betrayed her nerves. “Come, Hagrid will be your guide in the Forest.”

They followed the Headmistress as she crossed the outer fields with a brisk step, taking them to the Groundskeeper’s hut. Draco tried to hold on to his composure as she knocked on the huge door.

“Comin’, comin’,” called a gruff voice from inside. A few seconds later, the door squeaked open, accompanied by a giant hand, and Hagrid poked his head out, beard and hair all ruffled.

"Ah, yer here already!" he exclaimed, and wasted no time jumping over the two steps in front of the door to grasp Harry in what looked like a suffocating hug.

"Wish yeh came to visit fer happier reasons, Harry," the half-giant said, voice muffled by layers of wool and beard hair. Harry said something Draco didn't catch and patted Hagrid's arm until he was let go.

Hagrid kept his hands on Harry’s shoulder, eyes glistening as he looked at him like a father might look at his son. Only then he seemed to notice Draco’s presence. He glared at him silently, lower lip slightly trembling underneath the bushy beard.

“It seems like you’re in good hands,” McGonagall said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to the school.”

“Of course, Professor. Thank you for meeting us,” Harry said.

With a last worried nod to each of the people present, she turned and hurried towards the castle.

“Hey,” Hagrid whispered way too loudly, thinking only Harry could hear. “I know yer on official business an’ all, but do yeh mind if I quickly grab somethin’ fer the Thestrals? S’on the way, I promise. They haven’t eaten today an’-”

“Yes, Hagrid, but please be quick,” Harry interrupted impatiently. With a nod, Hagrid was back inside the hut in two huge strides, and a moment later Draco could hear him rummaging.

“So, how was France?” Harry asked. When Draco turned to look at him, he was staring at the limit of the forest behind the hut.

“What part of ‘strictly professional interactions’ don’t you get?”

“A colleague could ask you that,” Harry rebuked.

Draco sighed. “No, not to me.”

Truth was, there wasn’t much to say about France. Of the nine months he’d been there, more than half he’d spent shuttered in his flat, studying and experimenting, trying to understand what path his career -his  _ life- _ could take in the future; then, once he gave up in finding a purpose to his existence, he wandered around Paris, mostly at night, sometimes pretending he was a Muggle. There was an emptiness in his chest that weighed him down, a restlessness in his mind that wouldn’t let him sleep, and he blamed Voldemort’s brain for sucking out his motivation instead of his senseless decision to move away from everything and everyone he loved. It had been a miserable time during which he ate as little as possible and drank as much as he could. When he was drunk enough, he would yell to the world how Harry Potter was ruining his life once again, even from afar. There was nothing but shame in those memories, and nothing but shame was waiting for him back in Paris. He didn’t like to think about it now that he was in a familiar place with familiar faces.

Hagrid came out of his hut with a smile, a bag that smelled of raw meat in each fist. “Let’s go!”

As the half-giant guided them through the underbrush, moving low-hanging branches like they were made of twine, he kept going on about Porlocks, and Harry seemed to be content listening to him. There was that half-smile on his lips that he would get when listening to someone talk about their passion. Draco hurried ahead to concentrate on finding even the faintest track of magic, letting the others fall behind. But the Forbidden Forest brimmed with magical evidence, from centaurs to Bowtruckles; there was no way to disentangle all the threads without a precise idea in mind, and Draco knew nothing other than the kid’s name.

“Did you know Justin Lowell, Professor Hagrid?” he asked, stumbling on the last two words. Both Harry and the half-giant turned to him with quizzical expressions.

“Er… yes, he was one of my students. Ravenclaw, fifth year. Quiet lad, not many friends, yeh know? Usually brilliant, but not since Christmas. I heard his marks have been goin’ down in all subjects.”

Harry nodded knowingly, and added, “I read reports from interviews made around the school; his housemates said he became depressed, sleeping in between classes and eating the bare minimum.”

Hagrid’s face was crunched in a deep frown for the rest of the walk to the Thestrals’ clearing. Muttering an “excuse me”, he went ahead of them, taking the raw stakes out of the bags and throwing them one at a time to the animals. Draco’s eyes fixated on the dark, smooth creatures, not noticing that Harry had stopped closer than he’d like.

“Isn’t this place familiar?” he asked softly, making Draco flinch. Harry was looking to the left, where the trees were not as thick as the Thestrals liked. Draco followed his gaze, not finding anything that stirred his memory… until his eyes fell on a huge root that interrupted the path, breaking out from the ground to trip unattentive passersby. He remembered almost falling on his face because of that root while running for his life, following a whining black dog, his hand slick with sweat as he held on to the lantern. He had been nothing more than a child who just saw the ghost of Voldemort for the first time.

Draco swallowed, unsure how to feel about that. He looked at Harry, who had a nostalgic smile on his face, as if the memory involved a pleasant picnic with friends and not a traumatic experience.

“Yeah,” Draco said finally, mouth pasty.

“Sorry ‘bout that. We can go now,” Hagrid said loudly, coming back to them. They kept going on for about ten minutes, Draco dragging himself behind this time, then Hagrid stopped abruptly and Draco almost walked into him.

“This is where the other Aurors lost Justin’s tracks,” he informed them, voice low, and moved his gaze from Harry to Draco, expecting them to start working.

 

 

Harry stayed behind with Hagrid, observing as Draco worked his magic. His movements were tense, mechanical even, as he flicked the wand around, investigating traces Harry couldn't see, completely immersed in his job. Not for the first time, Harry blamed himself for causing Draco to leave. Not just for himself, but for the good of the British wizarding community. If he hadn't kissed Draco, if he hadn't hinted that he knew about his crush and felt the same…

“Can’t believe yer workin’ with Malfoy an’ yer not at each other’s throats,” Hagrid whispered, hiding his mouth behind a hand. Luckily, Draco was too far away and too focused to hear them.

“Then you won’t believe we used to be friends, too.”

Harry had to muffle his chuckle when Hagrid gawped at him with a comic expression.

“ _ Friends _ ? You an’ Malfoy?”

The chuckle died down in Harry’s throat, and for a moment he wished nothing more than to sit down with Hagrid in his hut, in front of the fire, breaking his teeth on a cake as hard as stone and chasing it down with hot tea. He wanted to talk about how he was mourning the death of this improbable friendship, how he missed it, how he wished he could go back in time and stop himself from kissing Draco, even at the cost of fucking up the timeline. Listening to a fresh perspective from someone not close to the situation might give him the miraculous solution he'd been looking for. He shook his head to focus on the present. Now was not the time.

“Weird, right?” he said, forcing out a laugh.

Hagrid was not convinced.

“Potter!” Draco called. Harry was at his side in no time.

“What is it?”

“The most recent track of artificial magic ends here, as if he Disapparated.”

“But… that’s impossible. We are still inside the barrier.”

Draco nodded. “Yes. So, maybe a Thestral grabbed him and spirited him away.”

Hagrid, listening from afar until that moment, stepped forward. “No, not my Thestrals. They’re good eggs, they are, wouldn’t hurt a student!”

Draco’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “We must consider every option.”

Hagrid closed up the gap separating him from Draco, towering over him. "No, you don't, if yer opinion is bloody stupid!"

“Okay,” Harry said, moving in between them. “Hagrid, you can go back to your hut now. We have some work to do, we’ll find the way back when we’re done.”

Hagrid kept glaring at Draco. “‘S fine. But don’t go accusin’ innocent creatures.”

“We won’t, don’t worry. Thank you, Hagrid.”

“When yer done, yeh can come and have tea with me. Not  _ yeh _ , jus’ Harry,” he added, pointing an enormous finger at Draco.

With a last wave to Harry and a glare to Draco, Hagrid slowly disappeared among the trees, his stomping still echoing long after he was out of sight.

Harry turned to Draco.

“What?”

“You know he’s particular about his creatures.”

“As I said, it’s a possibility. We can’t overlook anything. Anyway, this place is full of traces left by those incompetents that came before us, it’ll take me hours to understand which tracks are the kid’s.”

“Mh. Would the letters help to identify his trace?”

“Maybe?”

Harry stuck his hand beneath the cloak and retrieved two pieces of parchment. He’d brought the letters with him when he went to Malfoy Manor, resolving to show them to Draco if he needed some convincing.

Draco grabbed them with his long fingers, careful not to touch Harry’s, and started tapping at them with the tip of his wand without unfolding them.

Harry silently willed him to get curious enough  to read them, but Draco was so engrossed in his practice he probably forgot that Harry was even there. A few minutes of silence later, Draco started following an invisible thread through the trees, and Harry followed him. Jittery as he was, after a while he couldn’t stand the sound of breaking twigs and animals scurrying in the underbrush anymore, and loudly cleared his throat. Draco kept going, either ignoring him on purpose or not noticing him.

“What are we following?” Harry finally asked, giving up on subtlety.

“There are some older traces, even more faint than the one we found earlier. And,” he bent his head to avoid being hit by a low-hanging branch, “they’re not leading back to the school.”

In fact, they were moving away from it, going even deeper into the forest, where bird calls echoed all around and foliage was so thick they had to conjure some will-o’-wisps to follow them as they used their hands to struggle with vegetation.

“A student came here alone? On his own volition?” Harry wondered quietly. He understood the need to be alone, away from other people, but Justin didn’t need to go  _ that  _ far. “Unless…”

“No sign of Imperius Curse,” Draco supplied from a few steps ahead. He stopped, looking around confusingly. “There’s traces of spells here.”

“Which spells?”

Draco deliberately deflected his gaze. “I’m not sure.”

“Should we investigate around here?”

“Wait.”

Draco moved to stand directly in front of Harry, this time making eye contact. “Do you have theories about this?” he asked, gesturing to their surroundings.

“If he wasn’t forced, he probably came here to be on his own, reflect, maybe practice some kind of spell?” Harry ventured, aware of how weak it sounded.

“What kind of spell does a kid know that I can’t recognize?”

That was a very valid point. Draco was almost thirty years old with vast experience in identifying a variety of charms used by adult witches and wizards. It was kind of absurd that he couldn’t recognise what kind of magic had been practiced in there.

“You think he could be involved in something… dark?”

There was a pause longer than Harry would have liked.

“No. I’m pretty sure I would notice  _ that _ .”

Whether he meant because he had had direct experience with the Dark Arts or because he’d chased a lot of Dark wizards, Harry didn’t ask.

“Well,” he sighed, “let’s take a look around.”

Using different spells from their different backgrounds, they split the area and started combing it for any kind of clue.

_ If I were a young boy rejected from his family, what kind of spell would I practice deep in a dangerous forest? _

No matter how he tried to approach the situation, Harry couldn't relate to Justin.After a while he turned to see how Draco was doing, and found him sitting on a jutting root, eyes closed, concentrating on an Investigation charm. Now that no one else could see him, Harry let himself look. Draco's face was concentrated, frowning, and by the faint light of the will o' wisp, he noticed that he'd become thinner since the hospital. Harry's heart squeezed in his chest, remembering their sixth year, wondering if this time  _ he  _ was the cause of Draco’s distress, and felt guilty despite himself. If France wasn’t making him happy, if his life wasn’t any better, maybe even worse, then why was he so determined to stay away? Was the prospect of seeing Harry that repugnant?

“Potter.”

Harry shook his head, coming back to reality.

“Do you mind if I read the letters? There might be some kind of clue.”

Harry nodded and moved to get behind Draco, to read over his shoulder.

The first one was brief, written soon after the article came out, and it was full of words of thanks and hopeful expectations for Christmas break. The second one talked about how Justin’s parents hadn’t been accepting, saying that he had been brainwashed by a celebrity’s publicity stunt, that he was being dragged into a stupid trend because he was a weak-minded follower. Harry couldn’t see Draco’s expression from where he stood, but expected he would be affected by the words to a certain degree.

“Wait,” Harry said, “his parents are both Muggles, look here.” He pointed at the line where the word was contained and in doing so, he lightly brushed Draco’s cheek.

Draco yelled and jumped up from the root he was sitting on, a hand where his skin had been touched, a scared look in his eyes.

Harry took a step back, confused by the reaction. There was no need to make such a big deal out of it, it wasn’t on purpose.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, unable to keep his hurt completely hidden, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Did you feel it?” Draco asked out of breath.

“Feel what?”

“The… the burning.” Draco’s eyes were very dark, not reflecting the light from the will o’ wisp at his side.

Harry was getting worried. He went over the jutting root, moving closer to Draco. “What burning?”

Realising he was making a scene, Draco wiped his brow and let both of his hands fall, bending to pick up the letters he’d dropped.

“Muggles. What about it?”

Was he expecting Harry to pretend nothing happened?

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, just… don’t touch me. I think I’m getting sick.”

It didn’t sound right, but Harry dropped it.

“I don’t know if it matters, but it could be relevant. Muggles are easier to charm and can’t protect themselves even if they see the wand and know they’re about to be jinxed.”

“Mh. In that case, it would be a minor using magic outside of Hogwarts. The Ministry would know about it immediately and send someone to reverse whatever spell was cast. I wouldn’t expect a  Ravenclaw to do something so stupid.”

Harry let himself drop onto a smooth rock nearby, reflecting. What Draco said was true. There was no point in using magic on his parents if Justin still had the Trace on him.

“He wanted to run away from home,” Draco whispered, not meeting Harry’s gaze. His jaw was clenched as he stared daggers at the tree in his line of sight.

Harry rose and quietly moved closer. “Probably, but as we said, the Trace… and, well, he had to come back to Hogwarts in September anyway, so he wouldn’t run away for long.”

“He sounds like a smart boy, he must have found a way.”

Harry crouched, getting on Draco's eye level, and observed his features. Underneath the cool demeanour he was trying to maintain, there was a forgotten rage.

“A way to run away that even the best Investigator in the UK can’t fathom?”

He had spoken softly, but Draco’s eyes burned into Harry’s when they snapped up. “You don’t know what it’s like, Harry.”

Something inside Harry urged him to put a comforting hand on Draco’s shoulder. He resisted the urge. Draco flinched and looked down at the fallen leaves. “When a parent rejects you, you’re angry at them, you’re angry at yourself, because you’ve disappointed them; you want to go back in time to change your actions, ask for forgiveness, be accepted again. You also want to make your father pay because he’s supposed to love you no matter what, not just as long as you are what he wants you to be.”

Harry inhaled sharply, trying not to let surprise show on his face. So this is what it was all about. Lucius had rejected Draco when he came out, and he was dead now, and Draco never had closure with him.

With any other friend Harry would try to comfort them, with words, with hugs, with a night out to distract them; he would offer his support if they wanted to talk about it. With Draco, any course could potentially break this precarious balance they were in, and make him Disapparate to France again. He didn’t know what to say.

“When he died, we hadn’t spoken for three years,” Draco continued, his voice breaking. “He didn’t want to see me, and I didn’t either. I was forced to visit mother when he wasn’t home or meet her outside.”

Harry lifted his hand, wanting nothing more than to hold Draco’s face and kiss all those bad memories away, but as soon as one of his fingertips touched Draco’s jaw, Draco yelled again and jerked back, eyes suddenly wild and full of fear.

Once again, Harry moved back, hands up to keep them away from Draco. This time the spot he’d touched on Draco’s face was red and irritated.

“What the hell?” Harry shouted in confusion.

Draco’s eyes were staring at the empty space in front of him, as he cautiously tested the burn on his jaw. Once he calmed down, he frowned at Harry.

“It’s fire.”

“What?”

“The Fiendfyre. It burned me,” Draco explained, leaving Harry even more confused.

“I don’t-”

“Never mind.”

He didn’t need to tell Harry not to touch him again. The first time Harry thought he’d simply scared him, now it was obvious that the burning he was talking about was not a metaphor.

“Let’s go back to investigating,” Harry suggested, if only to have an excuse to focus on something else.

 

“Draco,” he called not ten minutes later. They had been expanding the searching area, moving in different directions. Draco didn’t reply, probably engrossed in his job.

Among a bush’ foliage, Harry could glimpse what looked like an inkwell, half buried in the mud. It could have been Justin’s; Draco would be able to tell. Harry flicked his wand at it, levitating it carefully towards himself.

“Draco!” he called again. There was a distant shout in response.

“I think I found something!” he yelled, letting the inkwell drop to his hand from a safe height.

The moment the cold glass touched his skin he felt a force tugging at his navel, head spinning, body falling through a spiral made of colours and sounds.

 

 

Draco spent the rest of the day and most of the night looking for Harry, but there was no trace of him. The fashion in which his tracks stopped abruptly was very similar to the way Justin’s had in the clearing. Their disappearances were linked; if he found one of them, he would find the other as well.

He had to explain to a certain number of people that Harry was missing too now, among which the Minister of Magic: everyone agreed to keep it hidden from the public lest the entire community panic. All of Harry’s friends were informed of the truth, of course, while the Ministry fed the public a story about Harry taking a well-earned vacation.

For about two months, Draco came back to the forest every single day, combing it with three Investigators, looking for a glimmer of hope. None was to be found, and the case was put aside, the agents called to other matters.

On Draco's part, it was time to make a choice, and he decided to abandon his boring french life and become an Unspeakable after all, if only to understand what was going on with the burn Harry gave him when he brushed his face. He couldn't be one hundred per cent sure, but it seemed to be the fabled long-lasting damage the Healers had been looking for, and they couldn't find it because it was triggered by Harry's touch. Draco wanted to know more about it, why it only happened to him, and possibly how to get rid of it, in case…

Throwing himself into work had always been ideal to ignore problems, but he couldn't help visiting the Forbidden Forest on his day off every week, hoping new clues would materialize if he gave it enough time. Not that he really believed he would find Harry; he just couldn’t accept such an incongruous end for the Boy Who Lived.

Once, about four months after Harry’s disappearance, he was back into the forest and was idly searching for the faintest trace of their investigation back in April. The tracks were now completely cold, covered by the passage of centaurs and the many creatures that inhabited the forest. What Draco was doing was taking a walk in the woods and wallowing in his regrets, essentially.

A shuffling sound behind him prompted him to turn, ready to face a territorial centaur, or perhaps a more sinister creature, but it was just a mumbling Hagrid, his head bowed as he went, looking for something on the ground. Uncertain whether to make his presence known, Draco stood perfectly immobile until Hagrid cursed heartily and lifted his gaze, seeing him.

“What are yeh doin’ here?” he grunted, his bushy eyebrows shooting up.

Draco didn’t want to answer.  _ Looking for Harry _ . It would have sounded stupid.

“I…” he began, looking around for inspiration. “I have Professor McGonagall’s permission.”

That was clearly not the reply Hagrid was looking for, but after a moment of suspicious staring, he shrugged comically. "So, yeh were the one stompin' around. Well, as long as yeh don't disturb the forest. Have yeh… Did yeh see an injured beast around? I've been findin' blood marks all over an' can't find who's been hurt."

“No,” Draco said promptly, not really caring for some creature in need of medical care. People were his concern, or rather one person in particular; he didn’t really have time to spare for animals. Then he heard Hagrid’s disconsolate sigh, and thought that maybe he did have some time for one of Harry’s friends.

“I haven’t seen anything, but I’m told I’m a pretty good tracker,” he supplied.

Although still shadowed by suspicion, Hagrid’s face brightened up at the offer.

 

After that day, which ended with them finding an injured Mooncalf and saving its life, Draco could always count on a hot cup of tea at the end of his futile search in the forest. Although neither said so explicitly, Hagrid must have known Draco was there for Harry, and felt some kind of warm gratitude at his refusal to give up on the search. Their talks, mostly led by Hagrid, usually revolved around whichever lovely and deathly creature he was caring for that week, and Draco wondered how could he have ever hated his lessons.

“Harry tol’ me yeh two was friends,” Hagrid said one September evening. They were sitting outside, next to the pumpkin patch, enjoying a cold evening wrapped up in a Warming charm. Draco was startled in hearing Harry’s name, and sat up even straighter on the lounge chair he’d conjured.

“Er, yes, I think so.”

Hagrid’s loud scoff was a clear sign of how uncomfortable he was speaking of Harry with his former nemesis. “What’s it mean, yeh think so?! How did that happen?”

Draco shrugged, buying enough time to swallow the lump in his throat. “We had to work together and… I guess we had to get to know each other, and neither was as bad as the other thought.”

“Yes, well, if anything, Harry is...was…”

Hagrid’s choked sob took Draco by surprise. He wasn’t prepared for that kind of situation, especially not with a hairy twelve-foot man. He forced himself to look straight ahead at the dying sun.

“I’m not giving up until I find him, Hagrid,” Draco said, and he meant it.

 

 

It was weird being paid to work for his own selfish reasons, but the Head of the Department of Mysteries had been ecstatic to welcome him to the team, even if he'd left his offer without reply for months. After the incident involving him and Harry, it was surprising that Draco would request to work with Voldemort's brain, maybe even suspicious, but the Head wasn't about to let go of a willing guinea pig in that sector. No one else seemed to be eager to take that place and Draco didn't even request an absurd amount of money for it, so it was a win-win for the Ministry. His research mostly consisted of two phases: one in which he would try to Legilimens the brain without physical contact, and one where he let himself be grabbed by its tendrils, under someone else's supervision. Being highly exhausting and dangerous tasks, he could work on them for a maximum of six hours per week. The rest of the hours were divided among the other mysteries being studied down there. He had been shocked when, during his first tour of the Department, Hermione opened the door to a dark amphitheatre at which centre stood, silent and threatening, the stone arch he'd seen in Harry's nightmare. He gasped at its sight, and Hermione didn't ask about it, probably already privy to what had happened.

Another room he didn’t like was the Love Chamber, with the damned fountain of Amortentia. Entering it immediately gave Draco a heartache and he refused to move further to be explained how research was conducted, saying he would never work in there. There was no way he could stay in that room for hours, let alone concentrate, with Harry’s smell so strong around him.

The Time Room was where he spent a lot of, well, time, which could appear to move faster or slower depending on the day, and Draco wasn't sure if it was an effect of the studied subject or his own mood. The most relaxing and interesting of the rooms, though, was the Space Chamber. He'd enjoyed Astronomy at Hogwarts even though the memories of that class had been ruined by its location, but there was something else he loved about the complete darkness surrounding him in that room. He could spend whole days in there, where he felt so small and insignificant and his pain had no meaning, because the planets kept orbiting and the stars kept burning and it didn't matter how lonely he felt. Maybe Harry ended up on another planet, that was why he couldn't find him.

He refused to think that the search was futile, that perhaps Harry was dead, not only because the most famous wizard of Britain couldn't have disappeared from the face of the earth. Draco couldn’t deal with the thought that he was gone, just like that, leaving him after Draco tried to move away to avoid him. All the reasons and excuses that made sense back then were now weak and stupid. Why the hell hadn’t he taken the chance to be together when he could? Why sentence himself to eternal loneliness when the man he loved expressed interest in him? Why keep punishing himself over actions everyone else was so easy to forgive?

All these questions haunted him, a new form of cruelty to inflict on himself when he started to feel too good about himself. If he hadn’t moved to France, Harry wouldn’t have taken the case. If he had been more aware, Harry wouldn’t have disappeared. It all circled back to it being his fault, hence his refusal to give up on the search. He had to find him, because he had to make it right. His mind had simply created a new debt to Harry, to make Draco unhappy and anxious all the time. Thankfully, he had become more able in hiding his distress from friends and family, so no one was worried about him; they must have thought he was grieving by throwing himself into work.

In the Department of Mysteries he often saw Hermione. She would never be on duty in the Brain Room, but they met in the spinning room, exchanging a few words as they waited for it to stop so they could go through the right door. When they found themselves having a similar schedule, they would lunch together, sometimes joined by other co-workers, and even if it was a bit awkward at the beginning, with Hermione trying to get Draco to speak lest she monopolise the conversation, Draco warmed up to her very quickly. He'd known from his Hogwarts years that she was a well of knowledge, and it used to annoy him to no end since that meant he could never be at the top of any class if she was there (and she usually was, no idea how she did it). Only now he could really appreciate her astonishing ability to memorize anything and her endless excitement about learning new things.

"It must come in handy, in this line of work," Draco commented once, after listening to a word for word retelling of a book about the history of magical housekeeping.

She blushed and giggled, surprised by the veiled compliment.

“It’s what I’m good at,” she replied.

“I bet half of the things Harry gets credit for were your doing.”

As soon as he said it, Draco bit his tongue. It had been six months and he still hadn’t learned to avoid sneaking Harry into casual conversations. Thankfully, she looked horrified for just a moment before shaking her head, eyes dry. She must have cried her share in the privacy of her home.

“No, you’re wrong. He… he was very good at fighting and making decisions under pressure, things I can’t do that well.”

Keeping his eyes on his plate, ashamed, Draco nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I don’t know why I said that, sorry.”

When he had the courage to look up at her, she was watching him with something terribly close to compassion. “Hagrid told me you still go to the Forest, looking for him. You don’t have anyone to talk to about him, do you?”

“Well, I…” Draco began, not knowing how to continue.

"We talk about him all the time, at home. We make dinners, inviting all our friends, and we tell stories."

Pansy had told him about it. She was allowed in the Granger-Weasley household because she was Ginny’s girlfriend and Weasley couldn’t put his foot down now that their relationship was pretty serious.

“You should come sometime,” she added at Draco’s silence.

“I thought Weasley-”

“Ronald can be, er, convinced to reason. If you’d have the pleasure to come, we would gladly have you. Rose still asks me when she can play with Harry’s friend again.”

“I’ll think about it,” was all Draco could say, overwhelmed by Hermione’s kindness.

It was incredible, how people he'd treated like shit for seven years were so ready to put all of that behind and become his friends. He thought about it in those sleepless hours when his brain couldn't seem to shut off, confused by work's errant schedule. It really seemed like all of Harry's friends were very good people, kind-hearted, ready to help and welcome someone like Draco into their lives. He wondered if they behaved like that just because they pitied him. Poor Draco, in love with his rival for more than a decade, now doomed to be alone all his life. And yet, when he saw them, he couldn't believe the picture his mind had painted. Harry was a good person, and all his friends had to be as well. It would be hypocritical of him to be close to bad people, so where did that leave Draco?

Either he was good, or he’d never been Harry’s friend. After all those months separating him from the last time he’d seen Harry, the latter was easier to believe.

 

 

On the first night Family Dinner Time was as difficult to navigate as a bog in the fog. Draco would rather stay silent than attract attention to himself, even though Weasley was pretty good at finding reasons to start arguments. Hermione and Rose’s warmth towards him worked in his favour, and Ginny was determined to become close with her girlfriend’s best friend, so at least he was the only one.

It was always painful to listen to anecdotes from Hogwarts, especially when they featured Draco as the main antagonist. And yet Draco started collecting them avidly, finding it funny how the story clicked into place once he had all the sides to it.

“Remember how obsessed he was with Draco in sixth year?” Hermione asked, as they all sat in the living room after a pleasantly abundant dinner. Rose had fallen asleep in Ron’s arms while little Hugo snored lightly in his mother’s. They all spoke quietly lest they disturb the peace of their dreams.

“Oh, please, let’s not,” Ron groaned, rolling his eyes.

Draco shuffled nervously in his seat, hoping someone would ignore his plea. In the end, it was Ron himself, unable to keep silent about it.

“It was so annoying. Remember when I told you that there was something weird about it, uh?”

Hermione shook her head, smiling. “I do, but you also said it was because Draco slipped him Amortentia… until you tried it for yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s not bring that up either,” he mumbled, blushing to the top of his ears. Draco hoped someone else would keep the Quaffle in the air. Appropriately, the former professional Quidditch player did.

“I remember that! Once we were having breakfast and I was talking to him, but his eyes were fixed right above my ear. He interrupted me mid-sentence and said, ‘I have to go’, and I turned just in time to see Draco leaving the Great Hall. I swear sometimes I felt a bit like  _ I _ was the one intruding in their relationship.” She smiled apologetically to Draco, then kissed Pansy’s cheek for good measure. It was ironic hearing Ginny talk about being jealous of Draco when Draco had felt the same for her. He remembered about her perfectly performed Bat-Bogey Hex and was glad she hadn’t felt so threatened by him to exact revenge.

“Funny,” Pansy said once she was done being kissed, “sixth year was the only one Draco wasn’t obsessed with Harry.”

Draco promptly grabbed a cushion from behind his back and threw it at her. “Shut up,” he growled, only half-serious.

“Yeah, no thanks. For real, I don’t want to hear the other side of  _ that  _ story,” Ron added, an unexpected ally in the moment of need.

The conversation came to an abrupt end like that, without Draco hearing half of what he’d hoped to. But there were always more dinners, and more evenings with tipsy friends, each eager to share another side of Harry Draco had never suspected. A couple of times they were joined by Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood, which, Draco found out, was absolutely hilarious, albeit sometimes unintentionally. He even managed to snatch an invitation for Blaise, vouched for by Neville as well.

Draco wasn't sure he could call it his new circle of friends, but he certainly was warming up to all of them, even Ron. And although Harry's absence was always in the back of his mind, like an old wound from the war, he was starting to learn how to live with it, and enjoy the rest of his life despite it.

 

 

It was surprising to open his eyes to the same area of the forest he was in before feeling the tug; if the warm inkwell in his hand made Harry wonder if he'd imagined it, the nauseating headache splitting his head in two begged to differ.

He expected to see Draco approaching him with a frown, but there was no one else around. Disoriented and unsteady on his legs, Harry feebly croaked “Draco?”. No answer came.

And yet, the piece of rock he’d been sitting on earlier was there, so was Draco’s exposed root. It  _ was  _ the same place, albeit slightly different in a way Harry couldn’t quite place.

“Harry!” he heard from somewhere among the trees. Sure enough, Hagrid appeared in his field of view, now effortlessly snapping a branch in his way, now stepping over a large bush as if it were an inconvenient root.

“Harry!” he repeated once closer, and for the second time that day threw his gigantic arms around Harry, crushing his ribcage in affection. “There yeh are!” he said, putting him down and patting him so hard Harry felt his own bones rattle.

Confused, Harry set his glasses on his nose. “Hagrid? What’s going on? Where’s Draco?”

“Ah, right…” Hagrid mumbled, grabbing a handful of his beard and caressing it thoughtfully. “How to explain this… Draco is, er…”

Harry’s brows shot up at the use of Draco’s first name, and Hagrid immediately assumed a guilty expression. “Oh, blimey, ne’er mind ‘im. How about we go back to my hut and yeh send a Patronus to Hermione?”

Everything about Hagrid’s behaviour was highly suspicious, but Harry decided to oblige without a fuss. If he knew the half-giant, the truth would slip out sooner rather than later.

Once the trees started to become more sparse and slices of sky were visible through the branches, Harry was surprised to see it was still pretty bright, even if it was early April and days were just starting to become longer. Hagrid’s silence and his concerned glances unnerved Harry to an improbable degree, but he managed to keep quiet until they were inside the hut, a cup of tea in front of both.

“Yeh drink that, Harry, then yeh send the message to Hermione,” Hagrid said, struggling to appear relaxed.

“Hermione? What should I tell her?” Harry asked, wand already in his hand.

“I don’t know, that yer here an’... ready to go home?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Hagrid before obliging him. Stirring his tea, he kept asking questions that might confuse Hagrid and make him slip up, but was interrupted by someone knocking insistently at the door less than ten minutes later. It was Hermione, standing on the steps, catching her breath.

“Harry,” she huffed. “Here you are.”

Why was everyone so surprised by his presence?

“Did you… did you cut your hair?” Harry asked dumbly.

She lunged at him to grab his hand, ignoring the question, and with hurried thanks and goodbyes to Hagrid, dragged him down the steps.

“Here, put this on.”

“My Invisibility Cloak?”

“Yes, please, I will explain everything later.”

More confused than ever, Harry put it on and followed her as she marched across the fields, straight for the closest limit of the anti-Apparition barrier. Once on the other side of it, she took his hand again and Apparated them both to her study at home. Harry staggered, still dizzy from the… inkwell magic?

“Hermione, what the hell is going on?”

She gestured for him to sit down on one of the armchairs in front of the empty hearth while she dropped on the other one.

“There’s no way to sweeten the pill, sorry… this is 2012, Harry.”

Harry gawped at her, not sure what to believe. Then looked around the studio, and it dawned on him: the new shelf with all those books he’d never seen, the award in the shape of a well-dressed house elf, the haircut, the new lines on her forehead.

“How…”

She sighed, preparing to deliver what Harry guessed were more shocking news.

“The inkwell,” she said, and Harry felt its weight in the cloak pocket against his chest, “it belongs to Justin Lowell. He-”

“Was he found?” Harry asked.

Hermione hesitated before answering. “Yes, well, not exactly. He came back on his own.”

Harry leaned on the back of the armchair with a  _ puff  _ of the cushions.

“...after a year he went missing. The inkwell was…”

“Let me guess. A Portkey to the future,” Harry concluded, barely believing his own words.

Hermione nodded, her eyes glimmering. "Isn't it incredible? Justin is brilliant. To think that a fifteen-year-old came up with the idea and was skilful enough to realize such an amazing object! If the Department of Mysteries knew about it-"

“Wait.” Harry was, at the moment, completely uninterested in Justin’s amazing skills and more concerned with his own situation. “Does that mean that  _ I  _ have been missing for three years?!”

“Not exactly. You see, if anyone found out he’s to blame for your disappearance… You have to understand, he felt really bad about it, it wasn’t his intention for the inkwell to be found by someone else…”

“So nobody knows about all this? Everyone just thinks I disappeared into thin air in the Forbidden Forest?”

Hermione deliberately avoided his flaming eyes, fixing her gaze on the blackened stones of the hearth. “Hagrid knows.” She paused. “Draco knows.”

“ _ Draco _ ?”

“Listen, Harry, this is how things went… or, actually, how they’re going to go, from your perspective. Justin felt awfully sick at the thought of you missing three years of your life because of him, so he went ahead and prepared another Timekey for you. It’s not a precise charm yet, so you’re going to go back about ten months from the day you disappeared. It’s the best he could do.”

“So what, I come back after ten months but I can’t say what really happened?”

Hermione sighed, brows furrowed. “He’s just a kid, Harry. He wanted to get away from his parents and this was the only way out he could find. He will turn eighteen this year and become legally an adult according to Muggle laws, that’s why he made the inkwell. Before making a three year jump, though, he wanted to test his spell and traveled one year into the future. When he was back in 2010, he found out what had happened to you, and didn’t leave again, starting to work on a reverse spell to bring you back. He didn’t mean for you to end up here.”

Harry remembered Draco’s words about the lengths a rejected kid would go to to be free of his parents, and his anger ebbed. Justin was ready to give up three years of his life if it meant he didn’t have to go back home. It wasn’t fair.

“Fine, I get it. I touch the other ‘Timekey’ and I go back to 2010. He comes back on his own about two months later.” Hermione nodded, her body visibly relaxing in front of Harry’s understanding. “Not a word about any of this to anyone.”

“Except to Hagrid, Draco and me,” Hermione corrected, getting up from the armchair and moving towards the desk at the other end of the studio. “We need to know. Draco has to be the one that finds you and, later, Justin.”

As she pointed her wand at a drawer, Harry let his eyes roam the room, trying to guess future happenings from the evidence he could find. His searching gaze fell on the corner of what looked like a future number of the Prophet, half-buried underneath a stack of books. What really caught his eye was the unmistakable “Potter” in block letters. Hermione was busy levitating a salt shaker, cautious not to let it come in contact with her skin, and Harry thought he could take a sneak peek at his future, just a little one. So he grabbed the newspaper corner and, lifting the books with the other hand, freed it.

The title read, “ _ Harry Potter ready to tie the knot at 31 _ ” and beneath it, sided by two columns, a picture of him and Draco, arms around each other’s shoulders. Harry stared as the other Harry leaned in and kissed the cheek of the other Draco.

“Harry, no! Don’t… Ah, too late. Don’t read it!” she snapped, yanking the paper from Harry’s hand. His eyes kept staring at the void in front of him, hands empty.

She sighed, keeping the shaker in midair next to her. “Harry, you know you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m engaged to  _ Draco _ ?” he finally asked, incredulity seeping through his words.

“I’m not going to say a word about it,” she said, vanishing the Prophet.

“Okay,” Harry whispered, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from lifting.

 

 

Harry found himself in Grimmauld Place, two years in the past and ten months in the future at the same time. It had been the safest choice, to use the Timekey inside his own house, so that he wouldn't end up being seen and have to explain himself vis a vis his disappearance. It also gave him time to think, to prepare a story that he would, no doubt, give to Pansy as an exclusive. But now, the first thing on his list was to tell the truth to Hermione. And Draco. It should have been easy, for him at least;  _ they  _ were the ones who had stayed behind, wondering if Harry was dead and dealing with everything that entailed.

The most discreet way to send a message was, of course, a letter with no signature; Hermione would recognise his handwriting. He decided to meet with her alone first, get his bearings and a report on the general situation, then he would deal with Draco. It was crazy to think that in two years they would be getting married; when he’d left he was sure there was no hope for them.

He sent the letter and paced the corridor until quiet knocks resonated in the empty house. It was certainly an emotional reunion: Hermione cried and fussed for a good ten minutes before Harry could get a word in and start to explain what had happened. After her initial shock, she had nothing but pure admiration for Justin Lowell, just like the other Hermione.

“Incredible,” she repeated for the fifth time. “He might just be the most brilliant mind of our century.”

“Isn’t it illegal to meddle with time magic outside your Department?”

She shuffled uncomfortably on the couch. “Yes, but he’s just a child. That’s why only I can know, right? So that in two years I come get you and give you the Timekey.”

“Yes, er, not  _ only  _ you, actually,” Harry corrected, rubbing his sweaty palms. “Hagrid will come for me in the forest, and Draco must know as well. He has to be the one who finds me, so we can tell the public I fell into a Time Tunnel in the Forest or something.”

“Draco!” she exclaimed, eyes like two galleons. “Oh, he’s going to… Merlin.”

“Is he…” Harry said when she fell into a silent stupor. “Is he still here? In Britain?”

“Still here? Harry, you wouldn’t recognise him! He became friends with Hagrid, he comes to all of our family dinners, he and Ron can stay in the same room for  _ hours  _ without trying to jinx each other! Oh, Harry…” she said, voice spilling too many emotions, “he still goes to the forest every week, looking for you.”

If all the news about Draco being friendly to people he used to hate surprised Harry, that last sentence shook him to the core.

“He does?” he asked, unable to believe it.

Hermione simply nodded, eyes wet with tears again.

“It will be an interesting reunion, then. He’s going to either kiss me or kill me.”

 

 

As it turned out, Draco did neither. Knowing his schedule thanks to Hermione, Harry waited for him in the forest, in the spot where he disappeared. He wandered across the small area for hours, walking in circles, thinking of what to say until Draco finally showed up.

“Oh, great,” he said flatly after staring at Harry for a long moment. “I’m having hallucinations now.”

He let himself fall on the root he’d sat on so many months ago, head in his hands. Harry cautiously stepped closer to him.

“Draco.”

“It speaks, too,” Draco groaned, refusing to look up.

“It’s me. I’m back.”

A beat later, Draco lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at the apparition of Harry. “Huh, you look exactly the same. Not buying it.”

"Here," Harry said, extending his hand, palm upward. "If I'm a hallucination, you won't be burned."

Draco’s expression became even more suspicious, if possible. His gaze went repeatedly from Harry’s face to the hand as he worried at his lip.

The other Hermione had taken pity on Harry, probably remembering how his relationship with Draco had been at that time, and gave him some hints on how to deal with Draco once he came back.

It felt like a decade before Draco lifted a trembling hand to brush Harry’s fingertips. As soon as the contact happened he hissed, pulling his arm back to hold it close to his chest. His eyes were wide and incredibly clear, even in the dim light of the forest.

“I’ll explain everything,” Harry finally said, since Draco wasn’t going to talk. “I promise.”

Draco kept staring, so much so that Harry started to feel uncomfortable.

“Ten months,” was all Draco said.

“I’m sorry,” Harry replied, “I’m so sorry. If I’d known I was going to disappear, I would have left you a note or something.”

“Your friends thought you were dead.”

Harry knew. He and Hermione had spoken a lot in the last few days, about what had happened while he was away, what to say to the public and the press, how to make his return as unexciting as possible so that he wouldn’t be at the centre of attention. They also spoke about Draco. Hermione could be trusted, no way she would lie to Harry, and yet he found everything she said incredible at first. When she left, leaving him alone with his thoughts in that big house, Harry thought back on it and wondered why he’d been surprised. Draco wasn’t the spiteful teenager he had met at Hogwarts anymore. He didn’t have those prejudices, that hate inside him, the bad influences that brought him to the wrong conclusions. He loved and he was loved, and even if he’d searched for loneliness in France, he had come back and Harry would marry the shit out of him in two years’ time.

Harry gave him an apologetic smile. “Did you think I was dead?”

Draco didn’t reply, turning his head left, looking beyond the trees. “Let’s go have tea at Hagrid’s,” he said.

Harry didn’t argue, following Draco as he stood up and started marching through the forest, and kept his surprise to himself.

 

That evening he brought Draco to Grimmauld Place, where Hermione was idly paging through Harry's Quidditch books while waiting for them. Together, Harry and Hermione explained everything to Draco, who mostly listened in silence with a stony expression. He still hadn't had the time to actually process what was happening, and was way too focused on concealing his reaction. Once he was mostly caught up on the story and what his role would be with the press, he rose from the couch, wanting to leave with Hermione.

“Draco, wait. We need to talk about the burns,” Harry called, gathering Hermione’s notes from all around the room. Hermione was quick to excuse herself and bolt out the door, leaving them alone.

“I worked it out,” Draco said, putting his cloak, “there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Then why does it still happen?”

Looking very intently at one of the paintings hung on the other side of the room, Draco said, “Because it couldn’t be fixed.”

They let the silence hang heavily in the room, the first to speak would lose.

In the end, Draco gave up and turned to face Harry. "It's just a theory, something I can't prove for sure. When Voldemort's brain touched us, we were each in our own hellscape. I went through mine alone, then reached yours, helped you out, and we ended up in the train station. Why did you go through two different scenes and I only saw one? I spent months with the brain, experimenting and diving into its universe many times, and nothing changed. No one else offered to come with me, so I kept going alone. After getting out of the Room of Requirement I was in a pitch black limbo that I couldn’t escape unless someone pulled the brain tentacles from my skin. My theory, and I repeat, I have no way of knowing if it works, it’s that someone has to come with me and… help me through my hellscape,” Draco finished with a small voice.

“I’ll come with you,” Harry said.

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“I know, but I want to come anyway.”

“Why?”

The caution and insecurity written all across Draco’s face broke Harry’s heart. He smiled through the ache in his chest, hoping to look as sincere as he felt.

“I know you don’t believe it, but I care about you, Draco. You’re my friend, and I love you, and it kills me that you’ve never given up on me in all these months, that you kept searching because you couldn’t accept that I was gone. I don’t know why you deny yourself happiness, why you let yourself have hopes and when they could be fulfilled you run away. You hurt yourself, thinking that you’re the only victim of your actions, but what you don’t know is how much the others suffer, too.”

Maybe he said too much. Draco was staring at the carpet, the flames in the fireplace reflecting in his moist eyes. He definitely said too much. Admitting how much he, Harry, hurt because of Draco’s choices was implying that Pansy and Blaise were hurt too, as well as his mother. Fuck, he could have said it more delicately. “Sorry, I meant to say-”

“You don’t know me,” Draco cut him off, his voice almost a growl.

“What are you talking about? We worked together for months. We were  _ friends _ .”

“No, that wasn’t me. I was being agreeable and nice because I needed to get along with you. I’m not like that. I’m a bad person.”

Harry physically took a step back, too shocked by Draco’s words. Not because of thier meaning, which he knew, was rubbish. It was the way he said them. He really believed it.

“Draco,” he began, moving back closer. “You’re not a bad person. You don’t have to take my word for it, just look back at the last few years. You worked so hard to catch the last of the Death Eaters; you went to a Muggle town and not once I heard you say something offensive; you saved my life twice, even if under the pretext that you were returning a favour. You’re friends with Hagrid and Hermione, for Merlin’s sake, even I find that amazing! The good deeds might not cancel out the bad things, but you can’t measure your self-worth by your mistakes only. You’re not perfect because you’re human. You’re not the person you used to be. Someone once told me that the world is not split into good people and Death Eaters: we all have light and dark inside us, and what matters is how we choose to act.”

He felt tears hobbling down his cheeks and hurried to wipe them away, mostly to have a reason not to meet Draco’s eyes. He hadn’t planned on talking about that, it just came out. He couldn’t stand watching Draco punishing himself all the time, just like he wouldn’t any of his friends; although with Draco there was an extra layer, one he wasn’t sure it was time to bring up.

“Fine,” Draco said as he turned to the door in a flourish of robes, his face completely hidden to Harry. “You can come by the Department of Mysteries once you’re done with public relations, I’ll send you an invitation.”

 

 

Harry arrived fifteen minutes late, no doubt because reporters kept on ambushing him wherever he went, especially in the Ministry lobby. Draco didn’t hold it against him, tightening his lips as he watched Harry walking down the obsidian corridor to the Department of Mysteries. When he smiled tiredly at Draco, all was forgiven.

Inside the Cerebroom, Jenkins was waiting for them, so excited to meet Harry Potter that he didn’t mind his tardiness.

“His job,” Draco explained after introductions had been made, “is to remove the tendrils after one hour. It seems to be the safest amount of time to spend connected to Voldemort’s brain. In case of complications, like one of us having a seizure, he will  Diffindo the tendrils with precision.”

Jenkins smiled with confidence. "I'm pretty good, don't worry," he said with a wink.

Draco looked at Harry, silently asking for the last time if he would really go through with this. Harry nodded in reply, looking slightly pale but ready.

“Proceed,” Draco said to Jenkins.

Going first meant that Draco would be alone at the beginning. He walked down the corridor to the Drawing room, sickness already pooling at the bottom of his stomach. In the last months he’d been there dozens of times, and a couple of them he had burnt alive inside the Room of Requirement, his mind not as quick as the Fiendfyre; in those instances, Jenkins had had to cut the tendrils, scared by the convulsions of Draco’s body and the smell of smoke rising from his clothes.

His feet made no sound as he proceeded, opening the familiar door and finding himself among piles of magical objects. He wandered the endless maze, waiting for the infernal heat to chase him. Soon enough, it came.

He started running for his life, not at all reassured by the knowledge of Harry’s presence somewhere in the nightmare. He didn’t want to burn again. After several minutes of desperate escape, it occurred to him that Harry could be lost in the maze, not knowing his own position nor Draco’s. Perhaps the fire had already burnt him to a crisp.

“Harry!” he shouted breathlessly, trying not to imagine the scene. “Harry, where the hell are you?!”

He’d built up some resistance in the past experiments, but he’d never lasted more than five-six minutes at full speed. Time and physics worked very differently inside the mind.

A sudden shadow appeared on his path, and Draco instinctively lifted his arms to protect his head: it wasn’t uncommon for piled-up objects to fall once the flames consumed the ones at the bottom. But nothing fell.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Harry was flying on a broomstick at Draco's side as if he had no haste at all. Draco had no breath to say anything, just looked at him with a frown. Harry laughed, unconcerned, and extended his hand like a knight in shining armour. Draco didn't know if touching him would burn, but it wasn't the moment to worry about that. He grabbed the hand and jumped on the moving broomstick, holding on to Harry's sides as tightly as he had years before, daring even to put his cheek to Harry's shoulder blade, praying Harry wouldn't bring this up later.

Harry seemed to know where to go, lifting up above the tallest stacks of objects and diving down towards a narrow door, presumably their way out. Despite their speed, Harry didn’t have to slow down to go through the threshold and Draco welcomed the next room with a surprised gasp: it was completely white.

As the broomstick came to a gradual halt, Draco climbed off of it with unsteady legs, looking around. Yes, it was different in white, but it was a place he remembered from his childhood: his paternal grandparents' living room. He let his fingertips trail on the couch he used to sit on with his grandmother; she would tell him stories about their family and sing songs, and she always listened to him when he shared something. Remembering Harry's presence, Draco's eyes searched for him, wondering what he was doing, and found him standing on the other end of the room, observing Draco with a smile on his lips. He said nothing when their eyes met, and Draco hurried to look away, scared of the questions he might be asked. He kept walking around the room, wondering how could his mind remember so many details from a house he hadn't been in for fifteen years.

"Draco," Harry said with a sense of urgency. Draco turned and found himself face to face with his father. For a brief, terrifying moment he forgot that he was inside his own mind, that his father was dead, and wanted to run as far as his legs could take him.

“Father,” he greeted once he’d come to his senses again. His father glared at him, then sat down on one of the armchairs without a word. Draco gave Harry a questioning glance, to which Harry replied with a shrug. Lucius kept his eyes on Draco, waiting for something.

"You should talk to him," Harry said quietly. "Say what you would have said those last three years." He respectfully moved farther away to give Draco some semblance of privacy, walking around the white house.

Draco sat on the couch, wishing his grandmother was there beside him, holding his hand, giving him strength.

“It looks like you have nothing to say, for once,” Draco began, buying time in the hope his hands would stop shaking in his lap. “How tragic. You had an opinion on everything, and it was always the right one, as you never failed to remind me. You never let me choose what to believe in, how to live my life, or who to marry. When I told you why I couldn’t marry Astoria, you said you wouldn’t have that rubbish in your family tree, and if I wanted to keep my portrait on that tapestry I’d better do as you wanted. Love is not something a Pure Blood can afford to consider, unless you fancy your own cousin, of course. If I’d persisted in being disgusting, my family would burn bridges with me, that’s what you told me. Guess what, mother didn’t agree with you. We still met in secret, and after you died I moved back into the Manor. Hah, if you could see your palace now. All your possessions are crammed up in your studio, and all that’s left of you in the house is your portrait, and only because you used a Sticking charm.

"You claimed to love me, but you only did as long as you could say you were proud of me. I can't tell you how much stress I endured, trying to live up to your standards for years. Because I knew that as soon as I disappointed you, even if it was just an E in my Potions essay, you would look at me as if I'd dragged the Malfoy legacy through the mud, you would refuse to speak to me for days. It’s really ironic that for once I have all of your attention and it’s a fucking fantasy. You haven’t interrupted me because you  _ can’t _ . You haven’t left because you’re stuck in that chair until I’m done unloading my frustration on you.

"You know what? I was always so worried about your opinion that I never realised that you were the one failing me. You disappointed me as a father, as the role model I chose to follow. Your life is full of bad choices and you pushed me to make bad choices of my own, never thinking how it would affect a kid that wanted nothing more than to be recognised by his father. Even now…" 

Draco choked on a sob but forced himself to go on.

“Even now that you’re gone I’m afraid of your judgment. I feel like your ghost is always behind me, looking at me in disgust, stopping me from making the right decision for the right reasons. You… you fucked me up, and it’s so hard to remember that I’m not living my life for you, or for the Malfoy family. I want my work to help people, I want to love who I love, and I want to be free of your shadow. I should be allowed to be happy, and I am going to be.”

Draco was breathless by the end, his heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage. Lucius stared at him absolutely unperturbed by his words, immobile on the armchair. Draco had the impulse to jump him and make him feel something, but he knew Lucius was just a puppet his mind had created so that he would not scream to the void.

A warm hand touched his shoulder, human heat seeping through the fabric. Harry was behind the chair, offering the comfort Draco would allow. Draco stood up, and the warm hand slipped away. Not here, not in a pale imitation of a nightmare he once had.

 

 

There was no need for Jenkins to cut or remove the tentacles: Harry and Draco woke up on their own, once they went through the exit door of Draco’s grandparents’ house, and the tendrils writhed away.

“It never happened before!”, Jenkins kept repeating as if Draco hadn’t noticed how unusual that was. “You must have done something right!” Jenkins continued. “Congratulations, Mr Malfoy.”

Harry offered him a victorious smile and Draco found himself returning it. Would it be weird to brush Harry’s jaw to check if it still burned? Would Jenkins find it uncomfortable?

As if reading his mind, Harry extended his hand between himself and Draco. “Here, test it.”

Draco shook it formally and found that the only heat he could feel was the reassuring warmth of Harry's palm against his own. Draco nodded, not saying a word, not releasing Harry's hand as Jenkins performed an impromptu victory dance on the spot. Draco's eyes could not leave Harry's, as his mind tried to win an argument against his heart.

“Jenkins, you can start writing your report, I’ll co-sign it later,” he said, and turned around, dragging Harry towards the door.

"O-okay, Mr Malfoy," he heard Jenkins stammer before the door closed behind them. The room started turning, and Draco felt Harry's curious gaze on him but didn't turn to actually see it; if he did, he would surely lose his nerve. The doors spun for an eternity, then finally came to a halt. Draco flicked his wand to reveal the true colour of the candlelights and made a beeline for the door between the white flames. They stepped into complete darkness.

Once the door closed behind them, planets and stars lit up all around them, although their light did not touch the newcomers. Draco let go of Harry’s hand and took a deep breath. This chamber would always make him relax, no matter what was going on, and he really needed it right now.

“Wow, this is… this is pretty romantic,” Harry observed somewhere on Draco’s right.

“It’s also pitch black, so you can’t see my face when I say embarrassing stuff,” Draco replied, expecting some kind of witty remark and being met with silence.

All right. He already had an emotional monologue today, what could go wrong by having another one? It’s not like he’d kept his feelings bottled up for years, after all. But a man is only as good as his word, and  he had promised himself he would finally tell the truth if Harry ever came back.

“I was seventeen when I realised I had feelings for you. I was at home, a few days after escaping from the Astronomy tower, and I was in bed. It wasn’t even nighttime, I just used to lay in bed a lot in that period, just retracing my steps, trying to understand why I’d made so many mistakes. I could hear mother and Snape arguing downstairs, I didn’t even care to eavesdrop. After all that thinking, I came to the conclusion that it was all your fault. I didn’t know you were in the tower back then, but I could feel that you were behind it somehow. I was so mad I started spinning an absurd revenge plan in my head, sure that I would face you in an epic duel, hoping to give you scars to match the ones you gave me.

“But then, as I looked for motivation inside me to go on with the tasks Voldemort gave me, I found that my strongest motivation was you. Not my father’s absurd expectations, not the Dark Lord’s punishments, not the fear to disappoint my mother. You. Since the day you humiliated me, refusing my friendship in front of our the other first years’, I woke up in the morning because I had to find a new way to make you pay. I studied hard to have marks better than yours. I used every chance to make fun of you, counting all the times you beat me to get back at you for every single one. If I couldn’t be in your life as a friend, you would have to take me as an enemy. I hated you, and you were the person around which my life gravitated; even my parents were tired to hear me talking about you. The thing I hated you the most for, though, it wasn’t when you caught the Snitch right in front of my face, when you were chosen as one of the Triwizard champions, nor the whole… ferret thing. It was that you never tried to save me, not even once, not when I needed to be saved the most. Anyone else, you would have tried to help them, or at least stop them, but I was a lost cause to you. You’d rather go to Dumbledore’s secret lessons and stupid dates with your girlfriend. Now I know that you tried to stop me all year, you just couldn’t understand how I disappeared from your map, which, I have to admit, makes me really proud of myself. But I had no idea back then. You caught me crying in the bathroom and you just  _ attacked  _ me. Oh, I was so, so mad. And hurt. If I hadn’t been working under Voldemort’s direct orders, I would have tried to kill you for real.

"So, following this line of thought, I realised that maybe you were more than just a rival to me. Maybe there was another layer to it that even I wasn't aware of. Maybe what I wanted was not revenge, but attention. Well, I'm not going to go into details, but I realised I fancied you, because how dare you go the ball with a girl that meant nothing to you, go on Hogsmeade dates with Ravenclaws, kiss your girlfriend in front of my morning pudding. How could you have a life so much worse than mine and yet a brighter smile? Why was I so fucking miserable when you wouldn't give me the time of your day?

“You probably already guessed how my life went after the trials. I found the job closest to you and worked my arse off to be important enough to be your partner. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up, as if my father’s ghost is behind me, listening to everything I say, but I can finally say I don’t care. These months you were gone, I missed you like hell. I like your friends, but I have to admit, I only started hanging out with them because it was my only way to feel close to you. I thought I was never going to see you again and I couldn’t stop thinking how much of an idiot I’ve been for turning you down when I had no good reason to. I missed you so much I’m kind of disappointed it was only a handful of hours for you, because I wanted you to miss me as well. I still hate myself for the things I’ve done in the past, but I can safely say that being your friend has made me the person I would have been if I had any say in my early years. I guess what I meant to say with this absolutely useless monologue, is that you changed me for the better and from now on I will try to make decisions for the right reasons, and not because I want to punish myself. And this is the last thing I’m going to say: I’m in love with you, and I’m an idiot.”

Draco let out a pent-up breath, finally free. He didn’t even care how Harry would react at this point, he was just glad to have said all he had been thinking in the last ten months.

It was an eternity before Harry mumbled something.

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” Harry repeated louder, “that it’s not a useless monologue, but I agree with you being an idiot. If it makes you feel better, I missed you a lot when you were in France.” Suddenly, the tip of his wand lit up, temporarily blinding Draco. “And I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want me to see your face, but I can’t kiss you if I don’t know where you are.”

Taken by surprise and still half-blind, Draco felt Harry's warm hands grab the sides of his jaw and kiss him so tenderly his knees almost gave out. Coming out of his stupor, he responded in kind, part of him convinced this was all happening in a weird corner of Voldemort's brain.

“Hey,” Draco murmured softly against Harry’s lips, “is it true that you keep my old wand on your nightstand?”

Harry pushed away from Draco, a frown barely visible in the dim light. “Who told you? I need to know who to cross out from my Christmas list.”

 

 

_ About two weeks after the events in the Space Chamber _

Being tipsy despite the early hour was a blessing in disguise because Harry was very, very nervous about going to the Family Dinner Time with Draco. They’d actually agreed on meeting at Ron and Hermione’s house instead of going together, and Harry regretted that decision immediately when he saw how dashing he looked with his arm hooked around Pansy’s, Apparating right in the middle of the backyard.

"Looking smart, Draco," Harry said in greeting, setting a record to get to Draco in fewer strides as possible. "Hi, Pansy. Nice dress."

She smiled, flattered, and said, “I’m going to find Ginny now, but you can find me later if you have another hot exclusive for me.” Winking at him, she swayed her hips as she walked towards the open back door of the house.

“I always look smart,” Draco said flatly, but Harry noticed a hint of a smirk curving his lips. He didn’t miss how Draco quickly checked around before kissing his cheek, setting a new record himself. Tonight was a very special dinner, one to celebrate Harry’s return, and there were a lot of people there, including the entire Weasley family, which alone counted more than twenty people. Seamus and Dean had come down from Ireland, Luna and Neville and their partners, the most disparate members of the Dumbledore’s Army, some people from the Order of the Phoenix, and even a very ecstatic Slughorn. And, of course, an herd of children, most red-haired.

“I think this is the most guests Ron and Hermione have ever had,” Harry said, moving two steps back lest a running child collide with him.

Draco’s brows came together in something similar to apprehension. “And how many of them have I offended or hurt in the past?”

Harry thought it better not to give him a percentage. “We talked about this,” he whispered, stepping closer to his partner, “no dwelling on the past. Enjoy the present.”

Draco met his eyes and nodded, partly comforted by the reminder. He patted the back of Harry’s arm, and said, “Let’s go inside, then.”

 

 

“So. You and Malfoy,” Ron said, his glass clinking against the top of a levitating tray that followed them around. They were taking a walk after dinner, hoping some exercise and the cold air could give them relief from the huge meal they just ate. “Can’t believe you looked me in the eye and said you didn’t fancy him. You bastard.”

"In my defence, I would never say that. I'm a grown man. I don't fancy people, I am attracted to them."

“Merlin’s kinky knickers, that’s even worse,” Ron exclaimed, pretending to gag.

“Besides,” Harry continued, ignoring him, “you’ve got to stop calling him Malfoy. You’re the only one who still calls him that.”

“Fine! If you ever marry the guy, I will switch to...  _ Potter _ ," he said, the last word in a perfect imitation of an angry teenage Draco. Harry could not hold back a laugh.

“Anyway,” Ron continued over it, “he’s not all that bad. I may have some issues with him still, but it’s good to see you happy.”

The laughter died in Harry's throat, and he smiled at his best friend. It wasn't often that they shared a heartfelt moment. “I am happy. Especially since he stopped trying to die for me.”

“You never told him you saved him from that Death Eater during the Battle, did you?”

“No, and you won’t either, even if you’re dying to gloat about that punch. While we are speaking so honestly, I have to tell you… Hugo kinda looks like a little gnome.”

Ron stopped abruptly and turned to him. “Right?! That’s what I’ve been telling Hermione but she keeps saying he’s her handsome potato boy.”

Harry worked really hard to keep a laughing fit in.

Ron sighed disconsolately. “I think he got my grandfather’s nose.”

 

 

“Was that so bad?” Harry whispered, gently bumping against Draco’s arm. The night was over and they were leaving the party, walking down a path that led out of the Granger-Weasley property, buying time before having to Disapparate.

“I survived,” Draco replied in a shrug.

For some reason, Harry still found that detached attitude very attractive. He threw an arm around Draco’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Is Narcissa waiting for you or can we drop by Grimmauld Place?”

“You know, she’s a bit irked that you still haven’t come for dinner.”

Harry made sure to sigh dramatically. "I know, but she seems even scarier now that I'm dating her only son."

“The more you wait, the more questions she will have,” Draco replied, his infamous grin threatening to show.

“It’s terrifying, okay? You have to thank me that I’m not making you meet  _ my  _ parents,” Harry said, hoping to veer the conversation away from Narcissa.

“Oh, yeah, you’re such a good guy.”

“Is that an insult? It sounded like an insult.”

It was very dark around them, and Harry dared to move in and kiss Draco, wanting it to be quick and stealthy. But Draco pulled him in, and neither seemed to want to let go.

“I’ll gladly meet them, once you’re ready,” Draco whispered against Harry’s lips. Harry loved how a simple kiss had the power to draw out all of his partner’s honesty.

“Of course. They will adore you.” Harry tore away his eyes from Draco’s lips. “So, are we going to Grimmauld Place or not?”

Draco made a show of rolling his eyes. “If we must,” he drawled, his smile betraying his words, and offered his hand to Harry. Harry took it and it felt warm and safe, just like he expected.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is you guys! The End... or is it??  
> I started writing this fic in December 2016, so it has been with me for a long time... I might come back to it in the future, who knows. Literally two days after finishing this chapter I read The cursed child and was kinda sad that it deals with similar themes :|  
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it and most of all I hope the angst of the previous chapters was outweighed by the happy ending!


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